


right here beside you

by WriterInWonderland



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Newt (Maze Runner) Has a Crush, Oblivious Newt, Oblivious Thomas, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterInWonderland/pseuds/WriterInWonderland
Summary: “Life doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be lived.”In which Newt discovers all the complexities and impurities of living his life and falling inexplicably in love.Alternatively; how long can two people dance around each other before they admit their feelings? If Newt and Thomas are involved... a very long time.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 205
Kudos: 103





	1. if my wishes came true

**Author's Note:**

> why hello, we're back with yet another newtmas slowburn fic!! (it's a very slow burn, just so you know. you're going to have to be patient with our dumb boys.)  
> i've been working on this for many months now and it's been a whole journey of emotions but it's HERE and now it's heading out into the world for you all to enjoy. if i'm honest, I'm grateful to finally be posting it.
> 
> updates should hopefully be regular because most of the chapters are already written and only require a few edits. it's going to be a long one, but i hope you'll stick around to see it through to the end :D
> 
> the title is from [you matter to me](https://open.spotify.com/track/3OIoLMnnWzAUORFQxRAhdF) from waitress.
> 
> you can also find the playlist i made for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Dvo2IvTQwg39fQRGxi4MJ) which includes each song i'll use for chapter titles and reference throughout :)
> 
> tw: newt's suicide attempt is referenced vaguely in a few of the chapters (i'll give a warning in the chapter they talk about it in more detail), underage drinking, that's pretty much it i think.
> 
> anyway, that's enough from me!! i really hope you like this, thank you for being here <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Woah, sorry!” Thomas says, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”
> 
> Newt blinks at him a couple of times, allowing himself the chance to get his breath back as he adjusts his glasses that he’d knocked slightly askew. “How long have you been sitting there?” he asks eventually, still slightly breathless.
> 
> Thomas frowns, “Since my shift ended. So, um. A few minutes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: the 1 - taylor swift

It’s funny, really, how Newt seemed to gravitate towards the place he knew was more than capable of tugging him out of his state of stupor after his less than enthralling night of trying, and failing, to finish his project. There may have been a few tears (okay, there were a lot of tears. So much so that Newt had actually been taken aback when he looked in the mirror before heading out this morning) and he may not have slept a wink, but he is up and he is on a mission towards caffeination so he can actually try and get something done for this godforsaken project. 

It’s not that he hates doing the work—he usually loves his creative writing class. Unfortunately, it appears that attempting to complete an assignment in the dead hours of the night whilst already in an unstable mental state was never going to end well. Hence the desperation rushing through his veins on this cold February morning.

Newt pushes—no, stumbles—through the familiar doors of the signature Glade University coffee shop, The Homestead _,_ and relishes in the glorious heat he’s faced with, a stark contrast to the bitter winter morning outside. 

As he squints through bleary eyes towards the counter, Newt realises two things: the first being that he must be the first customer in today because the shop is all but empty apart from himself and the barista who’s spotted Newt standing in the doorway (he should probably place his order now or risk falling under the category of the local nutter.) The second thing he comes to realise is that he is familiar with this brunet barista whose name Newt knows is Thomas even though he’s not wearing his nametag.

Thomas smiles at him as he approaches the counter, but not after taking a good look at the puffy bags under Newt’s eyes and in no doubt making the quick decision about whether or not he should be concerned. He probably should, if Newt is honest. If sleep deprivation and emotional instability are considered a threat, anyway.

“What can I get for you?” Thomas asks, still smiling.

“I’ll have a massive cup of whatever is strongest,” Newt says on an exhale without so much as glancing up at the long menu of coffee options hanging on the wall and praying that Thomas will understand.

Luckily for Newt, he seems to. “For here or to go?” he asks as he punches whatever it is Newt’s ordered into the machine.

“For here, please.”

It isn’t unusual for Newt to find himself seated in this coffee shop with his laptop in front of him and a hefty load of work to crack on with. He finds the atmosphere soothing as he tries to absorb caffeine both via osmosis and via a huge mug of something that finds itself quickly running through his bloodstream. If only this place had been open in the dead hours of night.

It’s only when the machine is activated that Newt feels his vision clear and his senses heighten—it must be the presence of coffee granules, he reckons—and he finally manages to look up at Thomas properly through his glasses. He’s only around two inches shorter than himself, and his hair is ruffled slightly in a way which is a lot more deliberate than the mess of blond curls currently residing on Newt’s head, and he notices the way his eyebrows furrow with concentration as he works his barista magic. 

They’ve had a fair few conversations in the past where Newt has been sufficiently less sleep deprived, and he’s kind of upset that there’s none of that flirtatious vibe coming from either of them this morning. He’ll blame it on the early hour of the day rather than his own clear exhaustion.

“You can take a seat, if you like,” Thomas says over the glorious hum of the machine. “I’ll bring it right over for you.”

“Uh, how much is it?”

Thomas shakes his head, hair falling over one eye. “It’s on me today,” he says as he flashes Newt a smile. “First customer free drink policy.”

“I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“It’s not,” Thomas says with another grin, glancing back over at Newt before returning his attention to the coffee at hand.

If Newt was a little more awake than his current state allowed for, maybe he might have overthought this kind gesture and had a rampage of thoughts flooding his mind such as _‘does he think I’m in need of charity?’_ or the other extreme: _‘is this a barista’s form of flirting?’_ But, and maybe fortunately for Newt, neither of these thoughts even fleetingly pass though his sleep-deprived brain. 

“Thank you,” he manages to say before turning to choose one of the many tables in this very satisfyingly dimly-lit coffee shop, with _Yellow Light_ serenading him in the background.

He squints into the bright light of his laptop as he lifts the lid and his google docs opens straight onto where he left off _(‘last edit was one hour ago’)_ with words protruding from the screen in an antagonising reminder of all the night’s cruelties. At least he managed to get something down last night; whether or not it’s entirely coherent is an entirely different story.

Newt looks up at the sound of footsteps making their way towards his table, and Thomas carefully places down the mug of coffee. “Here you go,” he says, and Newt can’t help but notice his seemingly well-manicured hands, wondering just briefly what they might feel like against his own. 

“Thanks Tommy,” he says as he tries to snap himself back to attention, which fails rather significantly considering the lack of caffeine in his system. So much so that Newt doesn’t notice the nickname that just slipped off his tongue as easily as if it had been rehearsed. What he does notice, however, are the few seconds of hesitation he senses in Thomas before the bell above the door chimes excitedly and he makes his way a little less than enthusiastically back behind the counter, ready to greet the next customer with a warm smile and a caffeinated beverage. 

Newt doesn’t watch out of his periphery as Thomas makes the second coffee of the day, nor does he listen in to check whether he also flirts with the red-haired girl handing over her money. 

He doesn’t. Okay.

After cracking his knuckles and neck enough times that even the other customers who have slowly trickled in must know he’s procrastinating, Newt finally allows his fingers to poise over the keys of his laptop, ready for a marathon of sorts and a shedload more time spent trying to get this perfect. The coffee helps, he thinks, and the words look clearer than they did before. 

That’s the thing about the Homestead: having other students who are also buzzed on caffeine trying to do any sort of work at all somehow makes Newt himself feel (and be) a lot more productive. It’s definitely not because he’s caught Thomas glancing over at him in the two (okay, maybe more like twenty) times he’s looked in that vague direction. 

He can’t help the tendencies of his wandering gaze.

\--

Looking back, Newt can vaguely recall getting up to use the bathroom maybe once or twice, and also ordering another huge coffee when he felt his eyelids begin to droop once more. He was less aware of the comings and goings of the customers around him, maybe staying for one cup of coffee and then leaving, or staying for an hour to finish some work and then packing up their stuff. 

Newt, however, did neither of these things.

To say that Thomas' presence startles him when he finally glances to his left and notices the boy sitting at his table is an understatement. Newt practically screams, jumping a mile and incidentally almost sending his laptop flying unceremoniously to the floor, only just catching himself from tipping back in his chair as he clutches the edge of the table as if his life depends on it. For all he knew, in that moment of absolute terror, it could have.

Thomas reaches out for him during his internal—and external—panic, his hands just as soft against Newt’s forearm as he imagined they’d be. Not that he imagined it. And not that he really notices, for that matter.

“Woah, sorry!” Thomas says, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Newt blinks at him a couple of times, allowing himself the chance to get his breath back as he adjusts his glasses that he’d knocked slightly askew. “How long have you been sitting there?” he asks eventually, still slightly breathless.

Thomas frowns, “Since my shift ended. So, um. A few minutes?”

“You didn’t think to announce yourself?”

“I did,” Thomas says as he scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks tinged with a light dusting of pink. “I don’t think you heard me, though.”

“Uh, huh. I’d say.”

And, while they’re eyes are locked, Newt comes to realise that Thomas just said that his shift has ended, and a glance to the small clock in the corner of his screen assures Newt that he just spent four hours in here, the most he’s ever spent writing in one place at a time. Well, at least he managed to finally finish, unless you count the violent keysmash currently residing on his document as a result of his scare. 

“I just wanted to see if you’re okay,” Thomas says eventually. “You’ve been in here for hours and you haven’t eaten a thing. I, uh, figured you must be hungry?”

He gestures down to the plate of pastries in front of him which Newt had failed to notice until now, which serves as enough of a reminder that he hasn’t actually eaten a morsel of food in what’s soon to be nearing fourteen hours. If he’s honest, the last thing he ate was what he stole from Minho’s plate of food before retiring for the evening to work on his project: a single chicken nugget, and maybe a chip or two. 

Last proper meal: status unknown.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, trying and failing not to eye the sugary soft pastries which would melt on his tongue in a burst of flavour and sweetness and— “But, Tommy. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why are you giving me all this free stuff?”

This time he notices the nickname, and he watches Thomas notice the nickname as well. His eyebrows raise just a fraction and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Newt tries not to blush.

“Because I wanted to,” says Thomas. “And, no offence, but you don’t look like you slept at all. Are you sure you’re okay?”

There’s something about his expression that is so genuinely sincere that it takes Newt a few seconds to compose himself as his brain recovers from its little short circuit. “Yeah, I’m uh—I’ll be fine. I had to finish this project before this evening and I was working on it all night. I’ve finally finished, though.”

“Here,” Thomas says as he slides the plate across the table towards Newt. “It sounds like you deserve these.”

Newt glances between the pastries and Thomas, a small frown residing between his eyebrows as he tries to work this boy out. There are so many questions he wants to ask, such as _‘why are you really doing this for me?’_ but he decides to keep his mouth shut and instead bask in the rare feeling of being looked after.

“Thanks, Tommy. I can pay you back, though.”

“Don’t you dare. This is on me,” Thomas says with such certainty that Newt doesn’t have it in him to argue back. That and the fact that the pastries do look a little too tempting to turn down, especially when they’ve been given to him for free by a cute guy. 

With that thought in mind, Newt finally plucks one of the pastries off the plate and doesn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into the golden brown, jam filled pastry which explodes with sugar on his tongue, just like he knew it would. And it appears that Thomas watches on with a sense of longing.

“Bloody hell. You need to try one of these,” he says. If he was a little less delirious from being awake for so long, maybe he might have interpreted the way Thomas watches him lick the jam from his thumb a bit differently—the conclusions he tends to reach in his sleep-deprived state are usually questionable at best, and this one fairs no better. Newt would say he’s usually pretty good at interpreting situations, being a writer and all, but this isn’t exactly a situation that’s particularly usual for him.

“Bloody hell,” Thomas echoes in a surprisingly terrible imitation of Newt’s British accent. “You’re right. Y’know, I serve these things for hours a day but I’ve never actually tried one.”

Newt raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? I thought working here meant you get free coffee and stuff.”

“It does. You honestly have no idea how much more coffee I’ve been drinking since I started here. Teresa’s the one who pigs out on the food whenever she gets the chance.” Thomas rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his maple pecan plait, and this time it’s Newt who glances down to his mouth as a blob of syrup lands just above his lip.

“Teresa?” he manages to ask as he forces his eyes to focus.

Thomas gestures vaguely in the direction of the counter where a girl around the same age as the two of them stands, seemingly watching them both until she meets Newt’s eyes and hastily busies herself by wiping down the already shining surfaces. It’s past the morning coffee rush now but still a little too early for even the earliest lunch-goes, so Newt isn’t surprised that the coffee shop is mostly empty apart from the three of them and a couple of students tucked away in the corners, frantically typing away on laptops like he himself had been just minutes prior. 

He doesn’t see Thomas offering them any free coffees or pastries, though.

“What project were you working on if you don’t mind me asking?” Thomas asks with a nod towards Newt’s open document.

“Oh, it’s just a creative writing thing for my class. It’s worth quite a few credits so I needed it to be perfect but it wasn’t and I kind of panicked because I’d left it so long to complete,” he says in a rush of words. “It probably just needs one more read over before I turn it in.”

“I could read it for you, if you want,” says Thomas.

At first, Newt hesitates. He hesitates because he’s never been comfortable in showing other people his work; the words on the page—his words—are like a small piece of himself, and letting people see that really scares him. But there’s a nagging feeling somewhere in his heart that’s telling him to go for it; to let Thomas in. Thomas—almost a complete stranger who quite possibly doesn’t even know his name. Who gave him free coffee and pastries just because he looked tired. Who is still here, even after his shift has ended, and is offering to do this for him. 

Yeah, maybe Newt could try letting him in.

“Are you sure?” he finds himself saying. “Because I’d really appreciate that, but you don’t have to if you have class or need to study or—”

“Newt. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Huh. So he does know his name. Even though Newt can’t remember the last time he got a coffee to go where Thomas would ask for his name and write it on the lid in that gorgeous handwriting of his and give him a smile that would drive his motivation for the rest of the day. 

“Okay,” he says, pushing his laptop towards Thomas. “Thank you.”

\--

Around an hour and a fair few edits later, Thomas leans back in his chair and turns to Newt with one of those gorgeous smiles on his face. “You have no idea how happy it makes me that they finally ended up together in the end. And, like, I know that was only the subplot but their scenes together were just— ugh, spectacular, I’m telling you.”

There’s so much relief flooding through him as Thomas says these words that he’s honestly surprised he’s still upright. Not only that, but the way Thomas manages to appreciate and constructively comment on his work like so few people are usually able to brings him so much joy and respect for this boy who, in the space of a single morning, has managed to bring some hope back into Newt’s life. Because this is a shocking contrast to the Newt who was breaking down in a snotty, sobbing mess in the middle of the night as he doubted all his life choices over a project that apparently turned out, as Thomas calls it, ‘spectacular’.

“You should be proud of that,” says Thomas. “Seriously.”

Newt smiles at him, still slightly taken aback by his enthusiastic response. “Thank you so much. That honestly means a lot.”

“It’s no problem. Hey, this just saves on its own, right?”

“Yeah just close the lid when you’re done,” says Newt.

He watches Thomas as he types one final thing on Newt’s document before closing the lid and turning in his chair to face Newt. “So do you have class today?” he asks.

Newt shakes his head, still staring into those hazel eyes that somewhat resemble the prettiest sunset tinged with copper and honey. “Thankfully, no. I’m not sure I’d quite manage to stay awake the whole time if I did.”

“You should have a nap if you can,” says Thomas. “I’ve pulled a few all nighters before and always ended up regretting it because I’ve been too exhausted to concentrate on anything the next day.”

“Yeah, probably not my best move. Thanks for editing that for me, by the way. You saved me a lot of time and brain power.”

Thomas laughs, running a hand through his hair to move his fringe out of eyes from where it had fallen over his eye again. “I should be the one thanking you, to be honest. You’re so talented, Newt.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says. “You didn’t see the state I was in last night trying to put some words on the page. I didn’t feel so talented then.”

“What matters is that you got it finished. But you should get some sleep, set an alarm, and check it over once more before it’s due in, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

\--

Once Newt got back to his room, shortly after saying goodbye to Thomas who apparently had a biology class to attend before lunch, it was almost as if something compelled him to reopen the document on his laptop where Thomas had left off. So he lifts the lid, unsure what exactly his gut feeling is trying to tell him, and _oh._

Right beneath the final sentence of his story, written in bold letters so it would be impossible for Newt to miss it:

**212-555-2368**

**Tommy x**


	2. spinning out of control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you going to tell Minho about your Tommy?” Aris asks as he pulls a jumper over his head, consequently messing up his recently styled hair.
> 
> “No I’m not, and neither are you,” says Newt. “And his name’s Thomas, not Tommy.”
> 
> Aris throws him a knowing smirk. “Right. Thomas. Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: wonderland - taylor swift

**Newt:** [5:23]

Do you leave your number at the bottom of all your sleep deprived customers’ google docs?

**Newt:** [5:23]

This is Newt by the way. 

  
  


**Tommy:** [5:25]

hmm which Newt is that?

**Tommy:** [5:25]

jk, glad you got my number before you sent it in to your professor. that would have been an awkward conversation. anyway. hi! did you get some sleep?

A smile creeps its way onto Newt’s face as his phone screen lights up with Thomas' messages just minutes after sending the first text. He’d waited until after his nap and after he’d sent the finished project to Professor Paige, the slightly intimidating woman who teaches his creative writing class. Thankfully, he’d remembered to remove the number from his document prior to submission—Thomas is right; that would have been slightly awkward on both of their parts if he had failed to notice it. 

**Newt:** [5:25]

I did, thanks for asking. How was class?

  
  


**Tommy** : [5:26]

not the best part of my day. 

**Newt:** [5:26]

And the best part was…?

**Tommy:** [5:27]

talking to you of course ;)

That was flirting, right? Newt wasn’t just imagining it? He’d left his number at the bottom of Newt’s google docs with a kiss at the end, and now he was possibly flirting with him, like something out of some kind of movie. 

Until now, Newt’s life had been anything but fit to be on-screen. These things didn’t just _happen_ to him. His twin sister Sonya was always telling him that lives were supposed to be messy and raw and a little bit rough around the edges, and to never expect things to be as perfect as he always wanted them to be. She’d held his hand while he’d sat in a hospital bed with a shattered leg and a broken soul and told him that life doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be _lived._

Most of the time he takes her advice and lets life run its course in all its crazy directions, through whatever that entails, allowing what’s meant to happen to simply happen, and expecting no more or no less than what he gets from it. So this—this unexpected, slightly too good to be true situation—brings a ridiculously sappy smile to his face as he gets a rush of serotonin.

Newt is perching on the end of his bed, grinning down at his phone, when his roommate bursts through the door in a flurry of noise and baggage. “Hey honey I’m home!” Aris yells as he tumbles through the door, barely managing to barge through with all the stuff in his arms.

“Yeah yeah, I think the whole bloody street knows now,” Newt mumbles, mostly to himself, without removing his eyes from his phone.

Aris gasps melodramatically. “Who are you texting? Have you met someone while I’ve been away?”

“No, Aris. You were gone for two nights, who do you think I am?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” Aris asks, still standing by the door.

Newt sighs, “Just get your arse in here. How’s Rachel? You and her still good?”

“Yes, yes, we’re fine,” Aris says he dumps everything he was previously holding in his arms onto his bed in an unceremonious heap. “But I want to know all about this mystery boy of yours, Newt! I’m your roommate, I have a right to know this kind of stuff!”

Just when Newt is about to push him away once more and decline everything despite it being painfully obvious on his face, his screen lights up once more with another message from Thomas, a reminder that he never actually replied to his previous text.

**Tommy:** [5:31]

sorry, was that too much?

**Newt:** [5:32]

No! Not at all. Sorry, my roommate just got in, he distracted me.

**Tommy:** [5:32]

ah okay! tell him i say hi :)

As it turns out, Newt doesn’t have to. Because Aris has wormed himself in beside Newt and is reading the exchange of messages with excitable eyes. “Damn, Newt. So this is what you get up to when I’m not around, huh? Also tell him I say hi back.”

“Bloody hell, I’m never gonna hear the end of this am I?” Newt sighs, playfully shoving Aris’s shoulder to get him off of his bed and typing out another quick message to Thomas.

**Newt:** [5:33]

Aris says hello. He’s a bloody pest and was reading over my shoulder.

**Tommy:** [5:33]

lol i think i know who aris is. didn’t you come into the homestead with him one time?

**Newt:** [5:34]

Oh God don’t remind me. I always say I’m never going out in public with him again but then I always end up doing it anyway.

**Newt:** [5:34] 

Actually that reminds me we’re meant to be meeting my friend to get food. I’ll text you later, okay?

**Tommy:** [5:34]

of course, have fun x

Seeing another little ‘x’ right there on his screen makes Newt’s brain short-circuit for a good few minutes before he realises that he’s just been blankly staring into nothingness to the sound of the shower running, only snapping out of it when Aris throws open the door to their bathroom. 

Newt swears that boy’s never done a quiet thing in his life.

“I’m going to go meet Minho in the cafeteria, you coming?” he asks Aris as he tugs on a pair of converse and his fleece-lined denim jacket.

“Yes. I could inhale a burger right now,” says Aris.

Newt frowns, “They don’t serve burgers on Wednesdays.”

“Huh, you’re right. Whatever. Wait for me?”

If he wasn’t such a patient person, Newt might have suggested meeting him in the cafeteria considering the amount of time it usually takes for Aris to style his hair and put on some proper clothes after a four hour car ride from meeting his girlfriend for two days. Newt met Rachel once when she came down here and the energy she gave off was just as chaotic as Aris’s. 

That was an experience he’ll certainly never forget.

“Are you going to tell Minho about your Tommy?” Aris asks as he pulls a jumper over his head, consequently messing up his recently styled hair.

“No I’m not, and neither are you,” says Newt. “And his name’s Thomas, not Tommy.”

Aris throws him a knowing smirk. “Right. Thomas. Got it.”

\--

They find Minho sitting alongside Winston and some of their other friends in the cafeteria with two seats left opposite him for Aris and Newt. “Here’s the shanks!” Minho yells in greeting. “I thought we’d lost you for a moment.”

“Nope. Aris here decided to spend ten minutes on his hair,” says Newt.

Minho laughs as the two of them take a seat opposite him. “That sounds about right,” he says before turning to Aris. “Hey, dude. How’s Rachel? How was your trip?”

Newt allows the noise to fade into the background as he raises a forkful of food to his mouth, realising that he is actually incredibly hungry after missing breakfast and having only a small lunch after his nap, as well as the pastries Thomas had brought over for him in the Homestead.

_God, that coffee shop._

All the events of the day still haven’t really caught up with him yet; it’s like his brain needs a while to process what happened and what still seems to be happening between himself and Thomas, whatever that might be.

“So Newt, did you manage to finish that project of yours?” Minho asks with his mouth full which he is highly aware that Newt hates him doing but obviously does so anyway, such is his charm.

There will always be a soft spot in Newt’s heart for the guy he’s known for eight years, who saw him through the worst part of his life and stood his ground even when everything felt like it was falling apart. They grew up but not apart, and Newt is forever grateful to still have his best friend by his side.

“Yeah I got it in on time,” says Newt, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Sorry if I was a bit… stressed last night. I think the pressure was just catching up on me.”

He fails to mention the part about the breakdown and the tears because he knows that both Minho and Aris will blame themselves for not physically being there, even though one was with his girlfriend and the other was probably sleeping. (Newt wouldn’t have wanted them there anyway if he’s honest. He’s already put Minho through enough.)

But he’s talking about his project, strategically removing the bit about Thomas helping him with it that morning in the coffee shop, when the boy he’s trying not to mention slides in beside Minho and offers Newt a smile so bright he’s surprised he doesn’t have to squint.

“Thomas my man! How’s it going?” Minho asks, offering his fist for an impromptu fistbump to which Thomas meets with his own.

“I’m good thanks. Thought I’d pop in and see you guys while I was passing through,” he says before he meets Newt’s gaze, offering him a slightly shy smile. “Hey Newt.”

Before Newt can reply, however, Minho is leaning across the table and glancing between the two of them with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “Hang on. How do you two know each other?”

Newt is also vaguely aware of Aris beside him who is sitting with his mouth slightly open as he realises that this is the Thomas that he learnt about a mere hour ago, but he instead chooses to ignore him in fear that his roommate may just say a little too much.

Luckily for him, Thomas manages to answer the question first. “I’m a barista, Minho, I know all the important people.”

“Wait, how do you know Tommy?” Newt asks, the nickname slipping carelessly from his tongue without a second thought about what the consequences may be.

“ _Tommy?”_ Minho echoes.

Maybe he should have seen this coming because he’s known Minho for eight years and the two of them are usually able to read each other like a book, but Newt really wasn’t prepared for the smirk sent his way and the obvious realisation that crosses his best friend’s face as easily as if a switch had been flipped.

But, once again, Thomas comes to the rescue. “We know each other from this guy’s parties,” he says, gesturing towards Minho. “I’ve never seen you there before, though. I didn’t realise you guys were close.”

“Best friends for eight years,” says Newt. “And I don’t go to his ridiculous parties so it’s no wonder you never saw me there.”

“Ah, not your scene?”

Newt shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Hey, my parties are excellent, I’ll have you know,” Minho says defensively. “Don’t start insulting them until you’ve tried them, Newtie.”

All he can do is roll his eyes because he’s not getting Minho started on his futile attempts of getting Newt to attend a so called ‘party’ with too-loud music and a bunch of drunk teenagers trying and failing to dance in Minho’s living room for the evening. That’s most definitely _not_ Newt’s idea of fun.

“We went when it was Winston’s birthday but only because I dragged him along,” says Aris, and Newt makes a mental reminder to glare at him later. “Remember when Rachel was here?”

Minho gasps. “Man, I’d forgotten that!”

Around another fifteen minutes or so go by as Minho and Thomas reminisce about every mishap at every party—which serves as enough as a reminder as to why Newt doesn’t attend those kinds of things—before Thomas begins to stand from his seat. “Anyway, I have a ton of bio stuff to do before tomorrow so I should probably get going,” he says before turning to address Newt directly. “Don’t forget to text me, yeah?”

Newt laughs, “How could I forget?”

He watches as Thomas leaves the cafeteria, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and is only aware that he’s been staring after him like a lost puppy when Minho tactfully clears his throat and Newt braces himself for the bombardment of questions to come. 

And _oh boy,_ do they come.

\--

Newt pulls his phone out from his pocket as soon as he arrives back at his dorm room alone, having left Aris to catch up on the classes he missed in the library, and he isn’t disappointed when his lock screen flashes up with new messages.

**Tommy:** [7:41]

it’s a small world, huh?

**Tommy:** [7:41]

also i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable. sorry if i overstepped or anything.

**Newt:** [7:43]

Maybe it’s small because we’re literally at the same college, Tommy. And you didn’t overstep, I promise. Minho’s always on about getting me to go to his bloody parties. 

**Tommy:** [7:43]

good point lol

i get why you refuse to go, they’re usually pretty crazy

**Newt:** [7:44]

Do you really go to every single one?

**Tommy:** [7:45]

yes but only because of peer pressure. i missed one ONE TIME and teresa was on about it for days. apparently she needed me there and i wasn’t but she’s never needed me every other time i’ve gone.

Something like jealousy spikes in Newt’s gut at the mention of Teresa, who’s name he recognises as the other barista from the coffee shop; Thomas' coworker. Except, it seems as if they’re a little more than just coworkers, and that fact doesn’t exactly sit easy with him. What if he’s got this whole thing entirely wrong? What if Thomas wasn’t flirting with him like he’d thought he’d been? Was Teresa just a friend? A girlfriend? An ex? Did Thomas even _like_ boys?

As Newt closes his eyes to try and regain control over his spiralling thoughts, he imagines what Minho might say to him in this situation—he was always the rational part of their friendship, though in all honesty, he would probably just say to ‘get your klunk together and ask Thomas who she really is without all the overthinking’. So Newt sighs, inhales, exhales, and decides to get his klunk together.

**Newt:** [7:46]

Who’s Teresa again? Your coworker, right?

**Tommy:** [7:46]

yeah coworker and best friend slash ex-girlfriend. it’s not as complicated as it sounds though hdjsksjk

“Well, that sounds pretty complicated, Tommy,” Newt mumbles to himself after he reads the message a couple of times and tries to come to terms with the idea of Thomas still being friends with his ex. And not just friends, but _best friends._

But then he checks himself, because why does he suddenly feel so possessive over a boy he barely knows and who may or not have been flirting with him for weeks. Just because Thomas has had a girlfriend in the past doesn’t have to mean he doesn’t like guys at all, Newt tries to remind himself. 

Maybe he’s bisexual? Or maybe Newt’s just setting himself up to get his heart broken when he realises that Thomas doesn’t feel the same way. 

There’s a small voice at the back of his head whispering _why should he feel the same,_ but Newt sighs and returns his attention to the messages at hand, wondering how to navigate the conversation to get more details on this Teresa girl. 

What’s the saying? Know your enemy? 

Not that she’s his enemy… This has already got out of hand.

**Newt:** [7:47]

It’s cool you guys are still friends. How long were you together for?

**Tommy:** [7:48]

erm. only like two months i think?? but that was forever ago. i think we just thought hey, we’re already really close, let’s try dating. 

**Tommy:** [7:48]

that failed miserably omg

**Newt:** [7:48]

Miserably? How come?

**Tommy:** [7:49]

i didn’t like her like that!! like at all!!! i just told her how i felt and she was like yeah okay, i agree, let’s just be friends. we work so much better that way.

An involuntary sigh of relief escapes Newt’s lips when he realises that the competition is actually all in his head and that he had, once again, overthought this entire situation. He can practically hear Minho’s _‘I told you so’_ in the back of his mind.

But there’s also something else bubbling up under the surface: a wave of guilt for the strange feeling of possessiveness, and for considering that Thomas could have been leading him on, despite the flirtatious vibes he was almost certainly getting. If Aris were here, maybe he could have had a second opinion. But Aris isn’t, and he doesn’t want to ask Minho because he and Thomas are friends and he doesn’t want him to go blabbing with that big mouth of his. It’s just something he’ll have to handle on his own, for tonight, he supposes.

**Tommy:** [7:50]

anyway, why so interested in teresa?

The chime of the text message makes Newt jump slightly, and he instantly scrambles to find a good enough answer in his mind to prove to Thomas that he isn’t already feeling jealous over a nonexistent threat. 

_Threat. Stop with the possessiveness, Newt._

When did he get so bloody jealous? And when did he fall so hard for Thomas?

**Newt:** [7:51] 

Just curious to know who your friends are, considering you already seem to know mine.

**Tommy:** [7:51]

fair enough. you know, you could always come over and meet my housemates. They’re basically my closest friends

**Tommy:** [7:52]

for some reason i decided not to live in the dorms, in case you were wondering. actually, i can blame teresa for that. this was her idea. 

**Newt:** [7:52]

I guess it wasn’t such a bad idea if you’re all mates now. And I’d love to come over, spend some more time with you. Are all your friends like Minho, though?

**Tommy:** [7:54]

no actually! we’re all kinda different but i think that’s why it works. but hey, you’re friends with minho and you guys are like total opposites! 

**Tommy:** [7:54]

you could come over tomorrow if you’re free? i’d love to see you again x

Newt bites back the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, his heart fluttering in his chest as he pictures the idea of seeing Thomas again, and from the kiss at the end of his text. 

_Again._

Who knew a little ‘x’ at the end of a message could make him feel this way? 

There’s something exhilarating about knowing that Thomas wants to see him tomorrow and _meet his friends_ , no less. That had to mean something, right? A little spark of hope ignites in his chest and he knows that if he keeps fanning the flames, it’ll probably burst into a raging wildfire and take over his entire being.

Maybe he wants that. 

Maybe he wants to see what will happen if he does.

**Newt:** [7:55]

I’d love to! I have class until three then I’m free for the rest of the day x

**Tommy:** [7:55]

i’ll come and meet you after your class if you text me the location so we can walk down together, if you like x

**Newt:** [7:56]

Yeah, I will. I’d really like that x


	3. something wonderful and new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh,” Thomas mumbles as he meets Newt’s gaze. “Guess we fell asleep?”
> 
> “I guess so.”
> 
> To his surprise, but not his discomfort, Thomas leaves his arm around Newt as he lets out a deep yawn and allows his head to fall back against the sofa. “How rude of us falling asleep to Harry Potter, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: city of stars from la la land
> 
> my lovely friend vic (@elysianszn on twitter) has put together a playlist of songs for this fic which you can listen to [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1PHWZY0eEG50xx0uJKdsnX). she's also written the explanations for each song in [this thread](https://twitter.com/elysianszn/status/1358147592870371331?s=20) if you're interested <3

“That’s all for today, thank you everyone. Remember to—”

Newt doesn’t listen to a word of what comes out of Professor Janson’s mouth after that, because he’s shoving his laptop into his rucksack and zipping it up with such speed that he’s surprised the thing doesn’t break. He isn’t wasting any time hanging around today. Not when Thomas is waiting just outside his class, having sent a text two minutes ago letting him know he’s here. 

With his phone stuffed into the pocket of his jacket and his rucksack flung over one shoulder, Newt pushes through the door and out into the corridor which is slowly beginning to fill with people spilling out of their respective classrooms. It only takes just a couple of seconds for Newt to spot him: 

Thomas is leaning against a white pillar with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes darting through the swarm of people, and he looks so damn _good_ in just a simple grey hoodie and blue jeans that Newt momentarily forgets how to breathe. He only realises he’s come to a complete stop when someone knocks into his shoulder from behind, and he snaps out of it. Gawping is not going to make a particularly great impression. 

Their eyes meet across the short distance between them and Newt is quick to make his way over with a half-shy smile, unsure what the acceptable greeting would be. “Hey,” he says, and is more than surprised when he’s instantly pulled into a hug.

“Hi Newt,” says Thomas, pressing them close together for just a few absolutely delightful seconds, where Newt wishes he could freeze time and feel this warmth for even just a little longer. It’s not the sort of hug he’d just give Minho or Aris, and feels strangely intimate for two people who’ve only just started getting to know each other, but hey. He’s not complaining.

During the short embrace, he realises that Thomas smells vaguely like cinnamon; calming and warming in a way he’s never experienced before. He tries not to be too obvious about sniffing him because he’s not sure that’s the best way to go about making friends. If friends is what they’re aiming for, here.

Newt tries not to visibly look him up and down, and instead settles on a pleasant (and very much not creepy) smile. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m good, just finished work,” Thomas says as he fiddles with the sleeve of his coat in a way that Newt might have perceived as nervous if he was thinking straight. “How was class?"

“Eh, it was alright, I suppose. Psychology’s interesting but not my favourite subject to be honest.” Newt pauses and, after a moment’s deliberation, adds, “definitely not the best part of my day.” 

The thing is, he definitely doesn’t want to come on too strong in case he’s got the entirely wrong impression here because _bloody hell,_ that would be embarrassing.

But Thomas seems to get the joke and decides to play along, his voice slightly teasing as they begin walking side by side. “Oh yeah? What’s the best part, then?”

 _That hug,_ Newt wants to say, but he refrains from saying the truth.

Instead, what he says is, “Spending time with you, of course. And getting to meet your friends in a bit.”

“You haven’t met them yet, you might really hate them,” Thomas laughs. “But that’s sweet. I think they’re going to love you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well you’re British, for starters. You’re cute, and funny. What’s not to love?”

It may have been said playfully, but the comment still makes Newt’s heart skip as he blushes like an idiot and prays that Thomas doesn’t see it. At this point, he doesn’t know whether that could be considered flirting or not. 

He’s such a mess—an actual walking disaster. Hopefully Thomas can’t tell. He doesn’t want to scare him off this early in their friendship.

“You’re such a bloody flatterer,” is what Newt says eventually.

\--

Maybe it should have felt weird, going back to Thomas’ shared house with him after barely knowing him for a day outside of his work, but the atmosphere between them is relaxed and comfortable, as if they really have known each other for months already. It helps, Newt thinks, that they have a mutual friend—Minho, of all people—otherwise he might have been a little more cautious. He trusts Minho, so, theoretically, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t trust Thomas.

This is why he follows willingly as Thomas leads them away from campus, their shoulders brushing occasionally, as Newt attempts to conceal the grin that creeps its way onto his face. If someone had told him a week ago that he’d now be walking alongside the barista he sometimes flirts with from the coffee shop, about to spend proper time with him, Newt wouldn’t have believed it. Because things like this don’t happen to him, and life doesn’t go out of its way to bring him good things. So, for once, it’s nice to have something like this.

And he’s going to appreciate it for however long this may last.

It’s only around a five minute walk to the house, but the winter air is piercing; slicing across his skin with its persistent icy fingers, in a cruel reminder of the fact that he’s not dressed in weather appropriate clothing. Every time he tells himself to be better organised before he leaves the dorm, but every time he fails to do so. It’s becoming a problem.

“This is me,” Thomas says as he turns to one of the houses and reaches to open the gate.

Newt stands back slightly as Thomas fumbles with his keys, taking in the exterior of this slightly rustic-style building which he never would have guessed is student accommodation. It definitely makes his bland dorm room look incredibly boring.

“Most of them are out at the moment,” Thomas explains as he pushes open the door and allows Newt to step inside over the threshold. “Ben was having a nap when I left and I think Gally was doing some video game in the living room. Just, uh, kick your shoes off by the door and I’ll take your jacket.”

 _Such a gentleman,_ Newt thinks as he toes off his converse and slips his denim jacket into Thomas' waiting outstretched hand, only for it to be quickly hung up alongside three other coats. Newt takes the time to look around the slightly dimly lit hallway, with its maroon carpets and wooden beams running down the walls, and he wonders for the second time how this could possibly be rented out to students. 

“This place is gorgeous,” he mumbles his thoughts as he follows Thomas down the hallway. “I can’t believe you get to live here.”

“Yeah I love it, too. The rent’s not even that bad to be honest,” Thomas says, poking his head through a door which is left slightly ajar. “Oh, hey Gally. Newt’s here.”

As Newt peers through the doorway, he’s able to see a slightly intense-looking guy with fierce eyebrows playing some shooting game on the television with a gaming controller in hand. Gally glances towards the two of them standing in the doorway for just a moment before returning his attention to the screen.

“Hi, Newt,” he says. “Glad to see you actually exist.”

A quick glance towards Thomas assures Newt that this is probably how Gally acts with everyone (if the eye roll is anything to go by, anyway), but he can’t help but wonder what he’d meant by that previous statement. Had Thomas been talking about him? Or had he only warned his housemates that Newt would be coming over? Either way, the idea fills him with an indescribable warmth, flooding through his core with so much certainty that he wonders how he ever doubted the way Thomas makes him feel.

Just as they’re about to move away from the door, however, Gally abruptly stands up and flings his controller down onto the sofa, quickly turning the screen to black. “I’m done here, anyway, you shanks can have it to yourself. Just no making out on the couch, alright?”

“Uh, we’re not—” Newt begins to say, but is cut off when Gally brushes past them and leaves without another word. “Um.”

Thomas sighs. “Sorry about him, he’s like that with everyone.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Newt says with a slightly self conscious smile. “I’m guessing he’s not one of your close friends?”

“We’re friends, just not— not that close I guess. I don’t know. Gally’s a strange one. Anyway, can I, uh. Can I get you a drink or anything? Coffee?”

It’s funny how they’ve come full circle like this. From Thomas asking Newt what he’d like to order in the Homestead, to Thomas asking Newt what he’d like to drink _inside Thomas' house._ From practically strangers to... friends? 

He can’t help but grin when he realises just how impossible this feels.

But he’s up for trying some impossible things.

“I’d love a tea,” he says. “If you’ve got any, of course.”

Thomas returns the smile, eyes glinting with something Newt is yet to learn how to decipher. “We have tea. I’ll go make some, you just make yourself at home. Play Gally’s game or whatever. I’ll just, um. Yeah.” 

Thomas leaves in a flurry of hand gestures and awkward energy, and Newt swears he’s never met anyone who acts just like he himself always feels on the inside: a strange mixture of chaotic nerves and a desire to appear somewhat composed. What Thomas is nervous about, he isn’t sure, but he has to admit that he doesn’t exactly mind witnessing it.

The living room has the same aesthetic as the hallway with its old wood and brick fireplace, and he allows himself to fall back onto one of the brown leather sofas, beside the gaming controller that Gally left behind. He’s never really been a gaming person, if he’s honest. Especially not any of those shooting games, like GTA or Fortnite or whatever. If he had to choose one game, it would be Mario Kart—he and Minho used to play for hours during high school, and it became such a comfort for him after he broke his leg.

Vaguely, coming from the kitchen he has yet to see, Newt can hear the clatter of mugs and spoons and the sound of the kettle being boiled, as well as Thomas’ soft humming to a song he can’t quite make out from this distance. When curiosity gets the better of him, Newt finds himself drifting down the hall towards the bright lights of the kitchen, and he eventually pushes through the wooden door which creaks just loud enough to startle Thomas and ruin his stealthy approach.

“Oh hey!” he says as he flits between the fridge and the counter with two mugs of freshly brewed tea. “Didn’t hear you coming. You alright?”

Newt leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of his chest, allowing all his weight to be relieved from his bad leg. “Yeah, fine. I was trying to work out what song you were singing but I couldn’t quite make it out.”

“Hey, are you saying my singing’s bad?” Thomas asks teasingly as he hands Newt his mug.

“No, not at all! It was muffled, okay? By the door?”

“Muffled.” Thomas says slowly. “By the door.”

“Yep.”

The look that Thomas gives him then is something like a strange mix of curiosity and humour, and Newt has to distract himself from overthinking by taking another sip of his tea; he’s determined not to make a fool of himself today. 

He can hear the radio now, and he can hear the song that Thomas was singing along to as it gently reaches its conclusion in a few familiar, soft bars of melody. 

“It was _cardigan_ ,” says Thomas. “From _folklore._ You know it, right?”

Newt nods, a smile on his face. “Of course I do. That’s my favourite album.”

“Seriously?” asks Thomas. “What other music do you like? Because if you like that then you must have incredible taste.”

And so, as they make their way back into the living room, the two boys indulge in an enlightening conversation about music which concludes with the sharing of Spotify accounts and leaves Newt feeling warm inside, and definitely not just because of the tea.

\--

Newt doesn’t remember closing his eyes, nor does he remember his head falling to lean against Thomas' shoulder with his glasses pushed slightly askew. But what he does remember, as he slowly begins to regain consciousness, is how the two of them had decided to watch a movie together until Thomas' friends got home. 

Eventually, they settled on the first Harry Potter film with the chance that they may eventually get to watch the rest someday (which Newt was thrilled about, because _bloody hell, Thomas wants to spend more time with him)._ He remembers laughing at Thomas' commentary and jumping in with his own opinions every now and then, though he preferred listening to what Thomas had to say more than anything else.

So this is why he’s so confused when he realises that they must have fallen asleep just after halfway through, one of Thomas' arms wrapped around his waist and holding him steady against his shoulder. Thomas' head is resting on top of Newt’s, and Newt can feel his soft breaths blowing gently against his blond curls, which is certainly an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation.

It’s only when Newt realises he can hear voices beyond the closed door (which he’s pretty certain neither of them actually closed, meaning that someone else must have) that he tries to wriggle his way out of Thomas’ grasp in a slight panic that they may have just crossed a line. Except the sleep-warm Thomas obviously has other ideas, because he mutters something incoherent in his sleep and holds Newt impossibly closer to him, his warmth seeping through his oversized grey hoodie. 

If he wasn’t so hyper aware that he’s in an unfamiliar place with people on the other side of that wall who he’s never spoken to in his life, maybe he might have yielded to Thomas’ silent request. But Newt can’t help but feel like he’s using his new friend by allowing this to happen while he’s currently unconscious. 

He reluctantly moves out of Thomas' grasp as he adjusts his glasses, trying not to wake him, but clearly failing when he’s met with the sight of fluttering eyelids and a low groan of complaint. Newt holds his breath, bracing himself for the string of apologies he’s anticipating, but they never seem to come.

“Oh,” Thomas mumbles as he meets Newt’s gaze. “Guess we fell asleep?”

“I guess so.”

To his surprise, but not his discomfort, Thomas leaves his arm around Newt as he lets out a deep yawn and allows his head to fall back against the sofa. “How rude of us falling asleep to _Harry Potter_ , huh?”

Newt laughs softly. “I mean, I’ve seen it hundreds of times already, so I’m sure Harry doesn’t mind too much.”

There’s a brief moment where neither of them speaks, though it isn’t awkward or uncomfortable, and Newt takes a moment to just look at the boy pressed up beside him with his eyes closed and his hair a mess. From here, Newt can see every golden freckle against his skin and the sharp angles of his jawline. He doesn’t mean to be creepy. He’s just admiring from up close while he can.

Thomas slowly lifts his head and opens his eyes to look at Newt, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hey. Want to go meet my friends?”

“Sure,” Newt says as he moves to stand up and out of Thomas' embrace, though he instantly misses his warmth. 

Thomas leads them out of the living room and through to the kitchen which is now alive with noise and activity, and Newt subconsciously tenses up. Three boys and one girl stand around the island in the middle of the kitchen, clearly arguing about something to do with food. It’s rather enthusiastic, to say the least.

“Guys?” Thomas tries to say over the noise, to no avail. “Hello? _Guys?_ ” 

It’s only when he yells above the rest of them that four faces turn to look at the two boys standing in the doorway, and Newt has to suppress his amusement at the look of surprise on each of their faces. There’s a moment of silence before the girl, who Newt recognises as Teresa from the coffee shop, skips over to them with her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face. 

“Hey sleeping beauties,” she says. “Nice of you to join us. We were just discussing dinner if you couldn’t tell.”

“Uh, yeah. I think we gathered that much,” Thomas says with a roll of his eyes which Teresa chooses to ignore, instead turning to face Newt.

“It’s nice to meet you, Newt. Tom’s told us all about you. Sorry about the noise, did we wake you guys up? I closed the door for you.”

While Newt’s brain is stuck on _‘Tom’s told us all about you’_ , Thomas appears to be struggling to formulate a proper sentence, his mouth opening and closing as he glares at Teresa. “You were the one yelling! How could we not hear you?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Teresa sighs. “What were you watching anyway?”

“The first _Harry Potter_ film. _Philosopher's Stone_ ,” Newt says, and he doesn’t miss the glance Teresa shoots Thomas out the corner of her eye, a wordless exchange between the two of them that he’ll probably never be able to understand.

“Don’t you mean _Sorcerer's stone_?” one of the guys calls from across the kitchen.

“Nope. It’s called _Philosopher's stone_ in England, they just changed the name so you American folk can understand what it means,” Newt explains, though he instantly regrets opening his mouth because he always forgets that some people may not quite understand his British sense of humour. He’s received a few strange looks for it in the past.

Except, his worries are extinguished as soon as they spark, because Teresa practically cackles with laughter as she leans back against the kitchen island. “I like him, Tom, make sure you keep him around.”

Even though it sounds suspiciously like something that somebody might say if they were _together_ (which certainly doesn’t go unnoticed by Thomas, either, considering the blush that’s quick to reach his cheeks) Newt can’t help but smile in relief. He’s not sure why, but he’s always been so self conscious and so paranoid that he’s a burden to the people around him. But standing here in this house with these people, he gets the unfamiliar feeling that he is _wanted_ and that his presence isn’t something to be ashamed of. 

It’s a nice feeling, he has to admit.

“Are you guys gonna introduce yourselves or do you need me to?” Thomas asks the three boys as he rounds the kitchen with a brief gesture of his head for Newt to follow.

One of the guys (blond, tall and slightly pale) jabs a finger in Thomas' direction. “Are you telling me you haven’t told him about us when we got a fully detailed description of him?”

“Slim it, Ben, that’s not true.”

Something like “liar” comes out of Ben’s mouth, and Newt openly smirks at the look of embarrassment on Thomas’ face. Huh. So he had been talking about him. 

Despite the rocky start to introductions, however, Newt is quick to learn that the other two guys are Zart and Frypan (he’s not sure whether they’re their real names, he was too shy to ask) and he also learns that, ironically, Frypan is their designated cook. There just so happens to be nothing edible in the fridge or freezer. 

They seemed to come to an agreement _—_ at least, Newt thinks they do—that getting some sort of delivery would probably be easier to feed the lot of them.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Thomas asks Newt, leaning closer in order to be heard over yet another argument about what food they’re going to order.

Newt nods, “Yeah, if you want me to stay.”

“Of course I want you to stay,” says Thomas, a little louder than before. “Guys! Make that seven people for dinner! Newt’s staying. And I’m guessing Gally’s still in his room?”

“He was when I went to see who was home,” Zart says as he scribbles something down on a piece of paper. _“Alright, who’s ordering what?!”_

\--

In the end, and after much deliberation, they all decide to just get pizzas, which Newt is not complaining about. The cafeteria pizzas are never the best, and Aris always insists that they try and eat ‘healthy’ by not ordering any food to their dorm (which is a bloody ridiculous suggestion in Newt’s opinion, but Aris seems to be allergic to a lot of things so it’s probably easier that way).

The pizzas arrive when they’re tucked away in the living room, with a fake fire on and the lights turned down low. It’s surprising, at least it is for Newt, how easily he’s able to slot into their crazy little family and feel comfortable in just being himself. Maybe it’s because each person brings something so different to their friendship, just like what he’s used to dealing with when it comes to the craziness of Aris and Minho. Or maybe it’s because Thomas is right here beside him, deflecting any unwanted attention.

From the floor, Teresa is caught trying to steal a piece of Ben’s pepperoni pizza, and Gally argues with Frypan about takeaway food standards. Among it all, Zart seems happy eating his pizza in peace, occasionally chatting to Newt about how most dinner’s end up exactly like this one, and how he’s grown used to the absurdities of his housemates. 

By the end of dinner, everyone insists that Newt shouldn’t pay for his pizza because he’s the ‘guest of honour’ or something like that, but that doesn’t stop him from sneaking some money into the pocket of Thomas’ hoodie while everyone’s attention is fixed on an episode of _Doctor Who._

But now, as night draws nearer, Newt is a little distracted by the way Thomas presses their shoulders together and allows their bare forearms to rest together despite the amount of space on the sofa. It would be so easy for either of them to just twist their arm slightly and entwine their fingers together.

Maybe in his dreams.

It’s when Newt’s phone chimes with a text from Aris asking when he’s coming back to their dorm that he realises just how late it's got and just how comfortable he’s made himself in this house and with these people. He should be careful; he could get used to this.

“I should probably leave before I fall asleep on you again,” Newt mumbles to Thomas who looks just as tired as he feels, his eyes already dipping half closed.

“You can sleep on me again, I don’t mind,” whispers Thomas. “But I can walk you back if you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah well, I want to.”

So that is how Newt ends up standing in the hallway with his shoes and jacket on beside Thomas, with everyone hanging around to say goodnight to him before he retreats back to his dorm room for the night. 

To his surprise, Teresa leans in for a hug. “Don’t be a stranger around here, yeah?” she says. “You’re welcome any time.”

“Thanks Teresa. Hopefully I’ll see you all soon,” Newt says with a smile when she finally pulls away, directing his comment to the group at large.

There are a few more mumbles of ‘ _goodnight_ ’ and _‘see you soon’_ before Newt is backing out the front door with Thomas and heading off down the dark street, in the direction of his block of dorms which are, thankfully, only a short distance away. Newt finds himself shivering within minutes, and feebly tries to wrap his jacket further around his body, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Thomas.

“You cold?” he asks with a small frown, though he doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s reaching into the oversized pockets of his coat and pulls out—much to Newt’s amusement—a scarf embellished with tiny hotdogs. 

They stop in the street so Thomas can stand in front of Newt and wrap the scarf around his neck, smiling proudly once he’s finished tying the knot. He’s so close again that Newt has to fight back the urge to reach out and touch him; he has to remind himself that he has no right.

He may have a stupid little crush, but that doesn’t mean Thomas reciprocates. 

“Seriously Tommy?” Newt laughs, trying to act as if the close proximity isn’t having an effect on him. “How did you just happen to have a hotdog scarf in your coat pocket?”

Thomas shrugs, “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

The next time they come to a complete stop is when they finally reach the lamppost situated right outside the front door to his building, and Newt turns to face Thomas with a smile. “Thanks for inviting me over,” he says. “I had a good time.”

“And they loved you, didn’t they? Just like I said.”

“Yeah, just like you said.”

There’s a pause before Thomas pulls him into another hug, the streetlight beaming down on them like a spotlight from above, and Newt finds himself wondering once again if this is how ‘just friends’ should say goodbye to each other.

Maybe. Maybe not.

“Text me when you get back?” Newt murmurs into the fabric of Thomas' coat.

When Thomas pulls away with a slight nod of his head, Newt swears he sees his eyes glance down to his lips but he can't be certain, as much as he wants it to be true. It was probably just a trick of the light.

“I’ll text you,” says Thomas. “And I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”


	4. i'm making such a mess of my feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, Newt!” Minho whines. “Come on, man, don’t be like that! I think it’s great that you guys are hooking up.”
> 
> “We are not ‘hooking up’” Newt hisses. “Is that really what Aris told you?”
> 
> “No, it’s what I inferred from what Aris told me. You know he’s far too polite to say things like they are. That’s why I thought I'd see if you could confirm it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: let it be - hayley kiyoko

**Tommy:** [8:11] 

do you happen to know anything about how five dollars seemed to materialise in the front pocket of my hoodie?

i’m getting my best men (and woman) on the case.

Newt can’t help but grin down at his phone as he walks towards the library, just narrowly avoiding crashing into a whole person while his mind and eyes are occupied. He’s only just managed to escape from Aris’s clutches after a long few hours of questioning (which started last night but somehow continued when he woke up, Newt isn’t sure how or why) about everything that went down yesterday afternoon. 

As usual, Aris now knows too much.

**Newt** : [8:12]

Guilty as charged I’m afraid.

**Tommy:** [8:13]

you didn’t!!

**Newt:** [8:13]

I did :P

**Tommy:** [8:14]

i can’t believe you!! we told you not to, newt. how dare you go against house rules?!

**Newt:** [8:14]

Oops! Sorry, I guess (not really, though) x

**Tommy:** [8:14]

you’re such a slytherin x

“Pssh. Am not,” Newt murmurs to himself as he pushes through the double doors to the library and begins to make his way upstairs to his usual table, where he’s spent hours before trying to perfect an essay or some coursework or a piece of writing. He’d wondered, on the night of his little breakdown, whether he should come over here to try and finish his project, but had written off that idea in fear that someone might see him in all his red-eyed, snotty-nosed glory. 

The library is still his second favourite place to study, after the Homestead, of course, because he adores the vibes he gets whenever he so much as steps foot inside, as if stepping into the presence of so much knowledge will help him actually pass his classes. He still kind of hopes he’ll absorb some of the wisdom by osmosis. (Shut up, he doesn’t study biology, okay? Let a guy dream.)

The library is mostly empty at this hour of the morning, considering that most students are either still in bed or just starting the early classes. But the librarian he knows as one of Aris’ friends, Alby, is apparently already here and he waves at Newt as he passes by.

“Morning Newt,” says Alby. “Haven’t seen you here in awhile.”

“Yeah I suppose not. You alright?” Newt asks as he adjusts the straps of his heavy backpack. Honestly, he swears he’ll never be strong enough to lug his psychology textbooks halfway across campus like he does on the regular.

Alby nods, flashing him a smile, “I’m good, thanks. And yourself?”

“Hmm, yeah. Been busy.”

 _Busy spending time with a brown-haired boy who gives him free coffee and hugs that might not be as platonic as expected, and who Newt is falling for at a remarkable, unmistakable pace._ But Newt doesn’t say any of this out loud, of course. His confidence could never.

He’s about to start drifting away from Alby when his phone vibrates in his pocket, and his attention is instantly drawn back to said brown-haired boy and everything that image brings with it, including their most recent text conversation. 

Before he can do so, however, Alby’s hand reaches out to touch his elbow and Newt glances back up again when his hand’s already halfway down to his pocket.

“We should, uh, hang out sometime,” says Alby.

Newt nods, though Alby no longer has his full attention. “Yeah we should. I’ll talk to Aris, maybe we can arrange something.”

He doesn’t wait for a response from Alby before he’s making his way towards his table with his phone in hand which lights up with a new message, and Newt feels that now familiar sensation of butterflies swarming in his stomach.

**Tommy:** [8:15]

nah, you’re definitely a hufflepuff, no doubt about it.

**Tommy:** [8:16]

or maybe a cross between a hufflepuff and a ravenclaw. is that a thing? a huffleclaw? a ravenpuff? i NEED THESE ANSWERS NEWTON

**Newt:** [8:21]

Ew. Please never call me Newton again.

**Newt:** [8:22]

Also. I am definitely a hufflepuff. No bloody huffleclaw or ravenpuff for me thanks.

**Tommy:** [8:22]

did you know that newt scamander was a hufflepuff? from fantastic beasts?? it’s basically fate that you’re in the same house!

**Newt:** [8:23]

If you say it’s fate, then it’s fate.

**Tommy:** [8:24]

by the way, is newt your real name? also what’s your surname?? and how don’t i know this already???

**Newt:** [8:24]

No, Newt’s not my real name. My surname is Wenley. And you gave me your number literally two days ago, Tommy, don’t worry about it. I don’t know your surname either.

**Tommy:** [8:25]

wait your name’s NOT newt??? does that mean it IS short for newton?

**Tommy:** [8:25]

also my surname’s Greene :P

“Thomas Greene, huh?” Newt mutters under his breath, as if testing out how his name feels as it rolls off the tip of his tongue, and deciding that he likes the way it feels.

“Yeah? What about him?” 

The voice makes him jump and he instantly spins around to see who could possibly be sneaking up on him and making him realise that he is never aware enough of his surroundings for his own good, because people are always making him fly a mile out of his chair, whether that be Thomas or, now, _Minho._

“Bloody hell, Min!” Newt half-yells, before remembering that he’s in a library and lowering his voice slightly for the sake of the girl in the corner who is currently working on burning a hole into the back of his head with her glare. “Warn a guy if you’re gonna sneak up on him, will you?”

“It wouldn’t be sneaking up if I did that, would it?” Minho says as he pulls out a chair and dumps his armful of books down on the table. “Anyway. What are you muttering about Thomas for? You guys got engaged yet? When’s the wedding?”

Newt rolls his eyes, “Slim it, Min. What are you even doing here?”

“What does it look like?” asks Minho, holding up one of his engineering textbooks. “And you, sir, didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one?” Newt murmurs under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he says. “And it’s literally none of your business anyway.”

“Uh, it kind of is my business, thank you very much. I don’t have best friend status for nothing, you know.”

“What, so you can get a bit of gossip?”

“Yeah like when you’re expecting your firstborn together,” Minho says, his voice laden with so much sarcasm that Newt has to outwardly grimace. “No, Newt! So I know what’s going on with you, of course.”

“Literally nothing!” Newt lies. “Everything’s cool. I’m fine, alright? Everything’s fine.”

Minho narrows his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest with a suspicious glint in his eyes that Newt has seen many times in the past. “Okay so now I know something’s going on,” he says. “Is it to do with Thomas?”

“Come on Minho, you can’t expect me to just— hang on,” he pauses as realisation slowly begins to sink in, and he wonders how he didn’t see this coming. “Aris already told you everything didn’t he?”

The way that Minho avoids all eye contact is proof enough in Newt’s opinion, and he can’t help but laugh in a sense of disbelief that he hadn’t realised Aris would go blabbing sooner, because he’s never been known for keeping his mouth shut. Neither has Minho, for that matter.

Newt points a finger at his friend as he fights back an eye roll. “I knew that look meant trouble! I’m never telling either of you anything ever again.”

“No, Newt!” Minho whines. “Come on, man, don’t be like that! I think it’s great that you guys are hooking up.”

“We are not ‘ _hooking up’_ ” Newt hisses. “Is that really what Aris told you?”

“ _No,_ it’s what I inferred from what Aris told me. You know he’s far too polite to say things like they are. That’s why I thought I'd see if you could confirm it.”

“Well there’s nothing to confirm and there’s nothing going on with us, sorry to disappoint.”

There’s a pause where everything goes silent except for the sound of the printer going off on the floor below, and Newt takes the opportunity to look down at his books and do what he actually came here to do. 

Except, Minho has other ideas.

“I think you’re lying to me,” he says.

Newt sighs, looking up at him once more. “What?”

“There _is_ something going on. I’ve known you for eight years, Newt, I know when you’re lying to me. And your eyes give everything away my dear!”

“Stop trying to be poetic and do some work!” Newt groans, allowing his head to fall into his hands. “Besides, you’re not bloody psychic.”

“Who says I’m not psychic?”

“Literally… every law of the universe?”

“Well shuck the laws of the universe, I know my best friend well enough by now to know when he _likes someone!_ ” Minho sings the final two words and Newt swears that he’s ready to just knock him out right here and now, either with his fist or with some insult that’s boiling up and is almost ready to spill from his mouth, when...

“Can you guys please shut the hell up?” the girl hisses from a few tables away. “This is a _library._ ” 

Newt has never been more grateful for an interruption, because he isn’t sure that he wasn’t about to allow his fist to have a close up view of Minho’s jaw, and he isn’t keen on testing whether or not that’s true. So he shoots Minho one final glare before unlocking his phone and types out one more message to Thomas:

**Newt:** [8:34] 

Yes, my name is Newton. And no, you may never call me that.

\--

In the five seconds that Newt has been inside his dorm room that evening, Aris manages to drop his bottle of hair product on his toe, yelp in pain, and consequently fall into the doorframe and slide down the floor in an undignified heap. 

Newt hardly blinks. Neither does Aris.

“I saw Alby earlier,” Newt says in greeting as he passes the boy on the floor without so much as glancing down at him. “He said we should hang out sometime, maybe send him a text?”

Aris nods from the floor, still massaging his toe. Newt is pretty sure this has happened at least ten times already in the few months that they’ve been living together, so he knows not to be too concerned about Aris’ bouts of clumsiness. 

After managing to get some work done in the library that morning, despite Minho’s presence, Newt had gone straight to his psychology class and was only now returning to his dorm to finally get some peace and quiet. Not that peace and quiet was ever an option with Aris around, but still.

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” Aris says as he eventually makes his way back up to a standing position, bottle of hair product in hand.

“Also,” says Newt, suddenly remembering what he’d promised himself to yell at Aris about when he got the chance. “We need to have a little chat about you blabbing to Minho about me and Thomas. I remember specifically telling you not to tell him anything. Do you happen to remember that?”

Aris pokes his head out of the bathroom and gives Newt some sort of languid gesture with his hand. “Must have slipped my mind.”

Newt sighs, “Bloody hell. He thought, and these are his words not mine, that we were _‘hooking up’_ because apparently you told him something along those lines.”

“Hmm,” Aris says slowly. “Now that does sound familiar.”

“Jesus Christ Aris, you can’t go around saying things that aren’t true! Especially that!”

“Well it’s not completely a lie, is it?” says Aris. “You sort of are.”

“We’re sort of _not!”_

Only then does Aris nod and hold his hands up in defence, and Newt knows that that is the only apology he’ll be getting from his roommate who, in no doubt, will never regret the chance to conspire against him with Minho, especially if it’s anything to do with his love life. (Which is basically non-existent, so Newt is usually safe from this looming threat. Not anymore, though, considering the ideas those two have been getting.) 

He once again finds himself swearing to never tell either of them anything to do with anything that matters but knows, secretly, that he will go running back to them as soon as anything happens. They’re his best friends, after all, and he loves them really. 

Well, most of the time.

“I just don’t want Thomas to hear anything that’s not true,” Newt says with a sigh. “I don’t even know if he feels the same way, and if I’ve got the wrong idea here, then—”

“Newt, for the millionth time, _he’s_ the one that gave _you_ his number! He’s totally into you. I saw how he looked at you in the cafeteria the other day, practically giving you heart eyes from across the table,” says Aris, coming to perch on the end of Newt’s bed. “And excuse me I’m wrong but that’s not how ‘just friends’ look at each other. Imagine if I started looking at you like I wanted to ravish you.”

“I’d really rather not imagine that.”

“My point,” Aris says, ignoring Newt’s face of disgust, “is that you shouldn’t assume he doesn’t like you back.”

This is the thing about Aris: he can be loud and irritating some of the time, but he is one of the best people Newt has ever met because he always, somehow, knows the exact way to say something at the exact time you need it most. Yes, he has a bit of an absurd way of making a point, but that’s why Newt appreciates him so much. 

While he is an overthinker, Aris is impulsive and acts on his heart's wishes. Sometimes that can be his downfall, like the time he thought it would be a great idea to open a can of glitter in their dorm room and allow the thing to explode all over the walls, ceiling, and every object in the room.

Newt was finding glitter in his pants for weeks.

But the point is, sometimes he needs to remember to take that risk; to live his life without fear. And that’s where Aris makes it a little more reckless. Because what’s life without a little bit of glitter among the grey?

“Listen,” Aris says, leaning forward slightly and lacing his hands together. “Minho’s hosting a party tonight and he asked me to tell you that you should go.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “You know how I feel about parties, Aris. We’ve had this conversation so many times before, why do you—”

“Thomas is probably going to be there.”

That shuts him up. 

Because even though Newt despises parties, especially those hosted by his best friend, the idea of seeing Thomas there actually makes him reconsider his opinion. _God,_ when did Aris and Minho learn how to pull his strings so easily?

“I’ll think about it,” Newt says eventually and goes to roll off his bed but Aris shifts so he’s trapped between him and the wall.

“Text him,” says Aris. “Ask if he’s going, say you’re considering it.”

“No way! I literally just told him I don’t go to these things!”

Aris sighs, “Newt! Just send him a message. Look, where’s your phone? I can send it for you.”

While Newt is trying his absolute best to convince Aris that this is a completely terrible idea and that he would rather open another of those glitter cans in their room again instead of go to this party, Aris seems to find Newt’s phone, unlock it so easily that having a passcode on it was always going to be unnecessary, and is quick to find himself on the thread of messages with Thomas.

It takes less than a minute of scrolling and reading until Aris looks up at Newt and gives him a look of disbelief. “Honestly, Newt. You seriously thought this guy wasn’t into you?”

“Aris! Give me my phone!” Newt tries to lunge at him but Aris simply runs into the bathroom with a cackle and locks the door behind him, leaving Newt pounding on the door in his wake.

“Wow you guys are such nerds,” says Aris. “It’s kinda sweet, actually.”

_“Aris!”_

“Fine. Alright,” he says before an agonisingly painful moment of silence descends upon them, whereby Newt is trying his best not to kick this door down. “There we go. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The door opens with the click of the lock and Aris hands him back his phone without another word, Newt glaring at him before allowing his gaze to fall down upon the message Aris had sent to Thomas, and is surprised to see that the little ‘typing’ bubble has already appeared.

**Newt:** [6:54]

Hey I was wondering if you’re going to Minho’s party tonight? 

**Tommy:** [6:54]

yeah teresa’s dragging me along. why? are you gonna be there?? please tell me you’re going to be there

**Newt:** [6:55]

I’d be less reluctant to go if you’re there. Besides, it might get Minho off my case for a while if I do.

**Tommy:** [6:55]

huh, that’s a good plan. i’ll be there. starts at nine, right?

“Aris, what time does it start?” Newt yells across the room from his chair at his study desk, having little idea of the party habits of his best friends.

“Starts at nine!” Aris is quick to respond. “Are you going or what?”

“Only if you come with. Y’know, for moral support.”

Newt can sense the eye roll coming in waves from the other side of the room. “Of course. I was going to go anyway.”

Thinking about it, Newt can’t believe that he’s giving up a peaceful night in his room by himself to go and stand awkwardly at a party with people he doesn’t know, probably ending up hiding in some dark corner, away from the mass of teenagers and twenty-something’s in his best friends home but with said best friend nowhere to be seen. Hopefully Aris is a little more reliable than Minho, but he wouldn't count on it. At least Thomas is going to be there.

**Newt:** [6:57]

Yeah, nine o’clock. I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.

**Tommy:** [6:58]

it’s going to be fine, babe. i’ll be there with you, i promise x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the surname Wenley was made up by my friend kaja (@bloodycounting on twitter) back in october when she was talking about Scottish Newt, so all credit goes to them!! (Newt's dad is half Scottish in this fic, so you can still imagine him with a British accent).


	5. is there a world where we can be alone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t feel so self conscious,” Thomas whispers into his ear, leaning even closer. “No one’s paying us any attention at all.”
> 
> A single glance around the room confirms this fact, and Newt allows his gaze to settle onto Thomas' as he begins to sway his hips to the music which feels like it’s vibrating through his skull. “You are,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.
> 
> “What was that?” asks Thomas.
> 
> “I said you are. You’re paying attention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: just like a movie - wallows
> 
> tw: underage drinking (for American laws, anyway)

Newt is decidedly  _ not  _ panicking about the ‘babe’ thing. Even as he walks through the doors and into his best friend’s familiar yet now painfully unfamiliar house which pulses with music, he is not panicking. As his eyes dart around the room in search of Thomas, he is not panicking.

It’s not like he hasn’t been called babe before; Minho calls him it sometimes, in a joking manner, and his sister often uses the term to patronise him, so the word isn’t exactly new. It’s the fact that it’s  _ Thomas  _ who’s calling him babe, in a way that may be flirting or could simply be a platonic teasing thing like it is with Minho. 

Talking of Minho: this is all his fault. 

It’s all his fault that Newt is currently standing frozen in the doorway, and it’s his fault that he even asked him to come to his bloody party. It’s been a matter of seconds, and Newt is already regretting everything. 

As he makes his way further into the house, with  _ Golden  _ blaring through the speakers, Newt notices a few faces he recognises from lectures, around the halls, and a couple of Minho’s flatmates who he’s become pretty good friends with over the past few months. Clint and Jeff are holding red plastic cups in their hands as they pass Newt—which is just so stereotypically American he has to laugh—and offer a loud greeting which is either because of the loud music or because of the contents of those bloody plastic cups, as if there isn’t enough plastic in the world as it is.

Just as he’s starting to feel a little overwhelmed with his senses being blocked by the music and low lighting, Newt feels a hand on his shoulder and spins around to face the person he somehow trusts the most not to leave him alone in this place like Aris unsurprisingly already seems to have done.

“I think you dropped this,” Thomas says as he places a slightly crumpled five dollars into Newt’s hand, with a wink that sets his insides on fire.

“Tommy!” he half shouts to be heard, still clutching the money. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here! I promised, didn’t I? Plus, Teresa would have yelled at me for days if I didn’t come and I wasn’t risking that. Anyway, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, fine I guess. Why are you giving me this?” he asks, holding it up in front of Thomas' face and watches as the overly-flashy neon lighting turns it into a rainbow display of colour before his eyes.

Thomas simply laughs and reaches to grab Newt’s hand, folding the money into his palm and holding his hand steady as he leans closer to speak into his ear. “Like I said: you dropped it.”

Now, Newt knows he definitely didn’t drop it and he knows that this is Thomas' way of returning the five dollars he left in the front pocket of his hoodie yesterday, but he can’t find the strength to complain. Not when Thomas is standing so close and is practically  _ holding his hand for Christ’s sake. _

There’s a moment where he doesn’t dare breathe, this sudden proximity so charged with unspent energy that a single breath could shatter the moment and send them both falling into turmoil; diving across the fine line of friendship they so hastily drew from the first hello. 

Where the party dulls his senses, Thomas heightens them. Newt doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t—

“Tom!” a voice tears them apart within the blink of an eye, and Teresa waltzes her way over to the two of them. “You found him, I see! Hi, Newt!”

Before he can react, Newt is being pulled into a hug that smells slightly of alcohol which shouldn’t surprise him, considering that this  _ is  _ a college party, but it still throws him off because this is the reality that he’s avoided this entire time. The party atmosphere that he’s never been fond of, but is suddenly right in the middle of, all because one boy happens to be here as well. 

“Have you got a drink yet?” Teresa asks when she pulls away from the embrace, looking up at Newt with half-lidded eyes.

“I, uh. I don’t drink,” he admits.

Teresa nods, making a gesture towards Thomas with her free hand. “Neither does Tom! You guys can keep each other company, that’s just perfect!”

“Hey Teresa, where’s Minho?” asks Thomas, seemingly in an effort to change the subject.

“In the kitchen last time I saw him,” says Teresa. “He had his tip jar out for drinks.”

Ah, the famous tip jar Minho was always on about. It was his way of making sure that all the drinks and food are paid for by the right people, considering they  _ are  _ college students and money isn’t exactly in abundance. That way, everyone chips in for what they consume; a very practical idea for a very impractical person.

Teresa places a hand on Newt’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you guys alone to do… whatever it is you were doing. I’ll see you later, Tom.”

Before Thomas can fire back a response, Teresa has dissolved into the ever-growing crowd of people, leaving them two of them staring at the place she’d just been standing with only a slight tinge of awkwardness and the promise of a very sober night surrounded by a sea of alcohol-filled bodies. 

How romantic.

“Do you want to go sit down?” Thomas asks, leaning a little closer to be heard.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Thomas manages to navigate them to a somewhat quiet corner with two sofas and a small wooden coffee table which has had it’s breakable items strategically removed. Newt knows all about Minho’s party-proof procedures. He’s heard him go on about them for hours.

“So,” Thomas says with a huge smile on his face, crossing his legs on the sofa and turning so he’s facing Newt. “Welcome to the party, I guess.”

\--

As it turns out, the party  _ with _ Thomas is a lot more exciting than the party  _ without _ Thomas. Just seconds after Thomas had been pulled away for something to do with settling a debate with the promise to return as soon as he could, a familiar sense of unease settles deep in Newt’s stomach and he can’t help but feel a wash of vulnerability as he sits here on the sofa all alone. 

Unfortunately, he isn’t alone for long.

A girl with dark hair and winged eyeliner, dressed in some sort of tiny black dress, slides into the place on the sofa where Thomas had been sitting just a minute prior, immediately invading both his personal space and his nostrils with her excessively strong perfume.

“Hi,” she says, too loudly. “I’m Brenda. What are you doing here all alone?”

Newt sighs because he really isn’t the mood for fending off drunk people tonight, especially this girl who practically screams trouble. “I’m not alone, actually. I’m here with someone.”

Technically that’s not a lie, but it’s the truth in the way Brenda clearly believes it to be and Newt isn’t prepared to tell her otherwise. Internally, Newt is cursing every single person who ever made him come to this bloody party because this is  _ exactly  _ what he wanted to avoid. Bloody parties, bloody girls, bloody—

“Here with your girlfriend, are you? Can I at least get your name? she asks, sliding a little closer in a way that makes Newt instantly tense up every muscle in his body.

“It’s Newt,” he says. “And no, no girlfriend.”

Brenda raises an eyebrow. “Oh? No girlfriend? Well—”

“He’s here with me.”

The voice comes from behind Newt and he’s surprised when he feels the sofa dip slightly behind him and an arm circle around his waist, the familiar cinnamony scent instantly giving away who it is. Thomas presses a kiss to his cheek and Newt’s face instantly heats up, because he can’t quite believe this is actually happening.

“Leave him alone, Brenda,” Thomas says, his voice surprisingly low and sharp. “Go find someone else to bother.”

A sly, slightly drunk smile reaches Brenda’s face and Newt braces for impact. “Ah,  _ boyfriend,”  _ she says. “I should have known. I didn’t realise you guys were together. Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. It was nice meeting you, Newt.”

It looks a little like she wants to draw a reaction out of him, but Newt simply allows his glare to speak all the words left unspoken. And Brenda seems to get the message. She leaves with a flick of short dark hair over her shoulder and one final, piercing glance in Thomas' direction.

Thomas sighs as soon as she’s out of earshot, but he doesn’t move away as Newt had expected him to. “I’m sorry about her. She didn’t say anything to you did she?”

“Not really, no,” Newt says, shaking his head. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

“I had to when I saw her coming over to you. I know what she’s like. Also, uh. I’m sorry about…” he gestures towards Newt’s cheek where he’d kissed him, the skin still tingling with the ghost of his lips. And, okay, Thomas could do that again if he wanted.

“Oh it’s fine,” Newt blurts out, swallowing hard and raking a hand through his curls in an attempt to compose himself and get rid of the slight burst of warmth spreading through his body. “You got me out of a situation, I don’t mind. Do you think she’ll tell anyone?”

Thomas shakes his head and he’s still sitting so close that Newt can feel his breath bristling against his neck. “She won’t remember by morning,” says Thomas. “She never remembered anything when she was drunk.”

“How do you know each other?”

As soon as the question becomes tangible, Thomas' expression visibly darkens for just a second before it’s gone. Newt might not have noticed the way Thomas' body stiffened if it wasn’t for the arm he still had wrapped around his waist, pressing them close enough together so their entire sides are touching. 

But he felt it. He felt it and he noticed the way it took a lot longer for the tension to seep from his muscles than it did from his face. 

“We knew each other in high school,” says Thomas. “We, uh. We have history. Maybe I’ll tell you another day, just… not here.”

Newt nods and places a hand on his knee in reassurance. “Of course. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“Thanks, Newt,” Thomas says with a small smile.

“Now, do you fancy a dance while we’re here?”

\--

Newt does not know how to dance. 

He discovers this as he’s stumbling awkwardly onto the makeshift dance floor of his best friend's house with the boy he’s known for a matter of days but who he’s already falling for. They start bopping along to the music, Thomas grasping one of his hands to tug him along, even though Newt was technically the one to ask to dance. In all fairness, he  _ had  _ only asked to try to cheer Thomas up after their encounter with Brenda, and his suggestion has clearly worked an absolute treat because that smile is back on his face and his confidence has returned just like Newt had hoped for. 

So, Newt doesn’t know how to dance. But he’s going to try his damn hardest if it means seeing that smile on his face, even if he’s making a complete and utter fool of himself.

Thomas must sense his hesitation, however, because suddenly he’s standing right in front of Newt and is placing a hand on his hip in guidance. “Don’t feel so self conscious,” Thomas whispers into his ear, leaning even closer. “No one’s paying us any attention at all.”

A single glance around the room confirms this fact, and Newt allows his gaze to settle onto Thomas' as he begins to sway his hips to the music which feels like it’s vibrating through his skull. “You are,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

“What was that?” asks Thomas.

“I said you are. You’re paying attention.”

“Of course I am,” he says with a smile. “Why would I not?”

It’s like the music is blocking the thoughts from coursing through Newt’s head as they move, because he knows he should be overthinking that comment but he can’t bring himself to chase it when uncertainty passes so fleetingly through his mind. He hasn’t consumed even a drop of alcohol and yet the music still makes him feel a little tipsy. 

Yes, definitely the music. Not the boy dancing with him, definitely not.

Their close proximity is killing him and he wishes he were brave enough to cup Thomas' face with his hands and just lean in without fearing the consequences. Maybe if they  _ were  _ both a little less sober, he would. But for now, this is enough; simply dancing like the friends they are, with no thoughts about the cheek kiss or Brenda or everything that had been happening between them in a matter of days. 

Just this. Just dancing. Just friends.

At least, it is until the song changes and everything around them slows down, both physically and metaphorically, because Newt starts to notice things. He notices the way Thomas' expression softens and the hand returns to his waist in an unspoken question. Newt answers by doing the very thing he had feared doing; he takes a deep breath before running his hands across Thomas' shoulders and wrapping his arms around him.

It’s not slow dancing, exactly. It’s an embrace much like their others, but this one feels so far removed from the ‘just friends’ boundary. 

Newt can’t find it in him to care.

But he rests his chin onto Thomas' shoulder after a moment, knowing that his frantic blush would give him away if he were to look into those bambi eyes, and it feels so  _ right  _ that he can’t help but enjoy it. He would stay here forever if he could, because his body feels like lead and Thomas is so warm and it begins to feel more and like he is the only reason Newt is still standing the longer they stay like this together.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Thomas murmurs, and Newt can physically feel the vibration of his voice which is enough to bring him a little further into reality. “I know a place we could go.”

“Hmm. Where?” asks Newt, and it’s only then that he lifts his head to meet Thomas' gaze, reluctantly putting some space between them.

“There’s a diner a few minutes away from here that’s open late,” says Thomas.

It may be considered early to leave a party at half ten, especially when they’re only been here for an hour and a half, but Newt is more than okay with finding a nice place to sit, maybe with a hot chocolate in hand, with Thomas and no loud music and no drunk people.

So he agrees, and allows Thomas to take his hand so he doesn’t get lost as they try to find Teresa to let her know that they’re leaving. 

They eventually find her yelling at some guy about American politics, and Thomas is quick to step between her and the guy who’s quickly forgotten when her gaze falls on Thomas. “Tom!” she squeals, pulling him in for a hug. “I saw you dancing with Newt, oh my God you guys are adorable!”

“Teresa, we’re leaving,” says Thomas. “Can you get yourself home okay? Can you find Ben or someone from home?”

At first, a frown crosses her face but is soon replaced with a knowing smirk. “Probably. Don’t stay out too late, be safe, and remember I love you!”

Before another word can be said, Teresa is running after a guy who she continues to yell at despite it being an entirely different person to the last time, and Thomas leads them through the crowds of people and towards the door which practically glows with the promise of tranquillity. 

How Minho or anyone else finds these parties enjoyable until after midnight is entirely beyond him.

Newt easily finds his jacket by the hotdog scarf that he’d wrapped around one sleeve which stands out against a sea of denim and polyester, per Aris’s suggestion, which he’d brought with him in the hope of returning it to Thomas.

“You kept the scarf, I see,” Thomas says with a laugh as they step out into the slightly drizzling rain which feels so refreshing after the sweaty humidity of that house.

Nods nods, smiling as they walk side by side down the street. “Yeah, sorry I forgot to give it back to you.”

“You can keep it.”

“What?”

“Keep it,” Thomas repeats, gesturing to the scarf in Newt’s outstretched hand. “It suits you better anyway.”

“Are you sure, Tommy? I don’t want to—“

Thomas places a hand on his shoulder, consequently stopping them mid-stride and reaching to take the scarf, wrapping it around Newt’s neck like he had the other night. “Newt. I want you to keep it.”

Somehow, the eye contact is so much more intense and so much more intimate now they’re away from the pulsing music of the house, and Newt feels his heart flutter in his chest. But he can’t help but wonder: 

Is this how just friends look at each other? Was that how just friends dance together? And is this how just friends feel when they stand so close?

“Let’s, uh. Let’s go?” Thomas stammers out eventually, not breaking their eye contact.

Newt bites his lip and he notices for certain this time that Thomas' eyes flick down to look at his mouth, and it’s definitely not a trick of the light this time. Newt doesn’t know what to make of that. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Let’s go.”

\--

Once they reach the diner and are sitting in a booth with the promise of hot chocolates on their way, Newt pulls out his phone to send a quick message to both Aris and Minho to let them know that he’s left and that he’s with Thomas. It’s the responsible thing to do, even though he hadn’t seen either of them much tonight. 

So much for their moral support, even if he didn’t end up needing it after all. But sitting here, opposite Thomas, as they chat idly about everything and nothing, Newt is grateful that his friends asked him to come tonight and he’s more than grateful for this turn of events.

It doesn’t take long for the hot chocolates to arrive, and Newt relishes the warmth that seeps through his muscles after just one sip. It’s warm here in the diner, a stark contrast to the slicing winter air that had him huddling into the hotdog scarf for the short three minute walk as he regretted once again not bringing a warm enough coat. But now, the feeling has returned to his muscles and he leans back against the seat with the most welcome sense of serenity that he’s felt in a long time.

“I forgot how good these hot chocolates are,” Thomas says after he takes a sip of his own and sits back against his side of the seat, stretching his legs forward enough that they end up brushing against Newt’s, though neither boy pulls away. “I found this place with Teresa when we’d just moved in but we don’t come here nearly enough as we should.”

Newt smiles, trying to focus on something other than the warmth that emanates from Thomas where their legs remain pressed together. “That’s sweet. How long have you known each other?”

“Uh, since we were seven I think. Her parents were friends with my foster parents at the time and we just clicked,” says Thomas. 

“Foster parents?” Newt finds himself asking as the realisation of Thomas' words sinks in.

“Yeah, I was put in the foster care system when my mum was sick and couldn’t look after me anymore. I wasn’t meant to be there for long, but my mum—” Thomas shakes his head, staring down into his mug of hot chocolate. “She, uh. She died, so I stayed with Mary and Vince. But it’s okay, I love them both and they’ve done so much for me.”

“I’m sorry about your mum. But at least you had Teresa with you.”

Thomas looks up then and meets Newt’s gaze. “Yeah, I did. And my foster brother, Chuck. He’s twelve and we’re hoping he can go back home soon but I’m going to miss him so much when he does.”

He can tell that Thomas is relieved he doesn’t act any differently, because Newt knows all too well how it feels to be pitied when you really don’t need to be. It’s why he doesn’t tell people the truth about how he broke his leg, because he detests the way they act like he’s a different person to who he was before they knew the truth. Minho is the only one in this university who knows, but only because he was around when it happened, a lot like how Teresa was there when Thomas went through what he did. 

It just proves that they all have their own battles and experiences that the rest of the world doesn’t necessarily need to know about.

“You’ll still get to see him after he goes home, right?” asks Newt.

“Hopefully,” Thomas says with a smile. “How about you? Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, I have a twin sister, Sonya. She goes to college in the same state as Aris’s girlfriend, Rachel. They know each other.”

Thomas leans forward in his seat with raised eyebrows. “You’re a  _ twin?  _ How did I not know this?” 

“The same way I didn’t know anything about Chuck! It just hasn’t come up. And Tommy, you only gave me your number a few days ago, remember?”

“I guess. Feels like longer.”

And he’s right; it really does feel like so much longer, and Newt is so glad that he’s not the only one who feels this way. 

The air between them is punctuated with the sound of the soft music in the background and the patter of rain against the window, and it makes him wonder how they could possibly have been near strangers just days ago. 

Since that morning in the coffee shop, they’ve just  _ clicked.  _ Usually, it would take months for Newt to become comfortable around someone and for that person to gain his trust completely, but there’s something about Thomas that makes him feel an inexplicable sense of calm which feels so foreign but so undeniably welcome. It’s nice just to feel at peace with someone different without having to feel so self conscious all the time.

Quiet descends between them as they listen to the gentle melodies coming from a speaker somewhere that’s playing  _ ‘Something About The Way You Look Tonight’  _ as if it knows there’s something unspoken between the two boys sitting in the booth by the window. Maybe he could get used to this. Maybe he could get used to late nights with Thomas, drinking hot chocolate in a quiet diner with Elton John playing in the background. 

Maybe.

“We should do this again someday,” Newt finds himself saying, voicing his thoughts aloud.

“Just us?” asks Thomas.

“Yeah, just us.”

Thomas smiles then and Newt swears he sees a hint of something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before; something that looks suspiciously like fondness. “Yeah, we should,” he says. “I’d really like that.”


	6. wherever you stray, i follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No way,” Sonya says slowly. “Is that Tommy?”
> 
> “Is that Sonya?” Thomas asks as he takes a seat beside Newt, now grinning wildly. 
> 
> “Yes it’s me!” yells Sonya. “I guess Newt mentioned me to you?”
> 
> “He did. Did he mention me?”
> 
> “Oh he did.”
> 
> “He did?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: willow - taylor swift

**Tommy:** [3:02]

so teresa wants to know if you’d be interested in coming to her birthday thing, she says you can invite aris and minho if you want

**Tommy:** [3:03]

you don’t have to say yes, i know you guys have only met twice. but it’s on tuesday night and she’s insisting that she wants to do laser tag, she’s such a weirdo

**Tommy:** [3:03]

anyway, you’re probably sleeping so i’ll leave you alone now x

“Is that your boyfriend?” is the first thing Newt hears that morning after sliding his glasses onto his face and checking his phone to see the time (eight thirty a.m) and being faced with Thomas' messages which were sent at three in the morning, an ungodly hour of the night.

While he’s busy wondering why Thomas was awake at that hour, Newt rolls over in bed to face Aris who is squinting at him through half lidded eyes. “What you on about now?” he mumbles, voice still groggy with sleep.

“Thomas,” Aris sighs. “Is it him?”

“Mhm. Why’d you say boyfriend? He’s not my boyfriend.”

Newt doesn’t catch the muffled response which is followed by a loud _thump_ which rattles the lamps and all the furniture as Aris’s body makes contact with the floor, remaining motionless when Newt peers down at him. Maybe he would have been at least slightly concerned if this had been anyone else, but he’s grown used to wake up calls that see Aris face-down on the floor and knows to expect a delayed reaction when it comes to verbalised pain.

He waits five seconds, ten, fifteen…

“Ow.”

 _There it is._

Instead of offering a hand, Newt throws his pillow on top of Aris’s head and watches as it’s pulled under his head because that floor isn’t soft nor is it warm, and the extra padding is probably much appreciated. Not that Aris verbalises any of this, of course. He’s probably fallen back to sleep down there in his hungover state.

Newt flicks on his bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a soft orange glow, and he hauls himself up so he’s leaning against the headboard and is able to properly reply to Thomas' messages.

**Newt:** [8:32]

Laser tag? Sounds like fun. I’ll get back to you about Aris (he’s currently asleep on the floor, don’t ask) and I can tell you now that Minho will almost definitely say yes x

**Newt:** [8:32]

Also, why were you up at three a.m?

Aris stays on the floor for another half an hour before he begins whining about his back and, by then, Newt has already showered, got dressed, and packed his bag for a morning in the library catching up on a psychology essay that’s due this week. He kicks Aris lightly in the side as he walks between their beds to turn off his lamp, and is greeted with a groan of exaggerated pain.

“That was mean,” Aris complains as he finally sits up, resting his back against the frame of his bed and rubbing aggressively at his eyes.

Newt is already halfway out the door and he looks back with a smirk. “We’ve been invited to laser tag on Tuesday night for Teresa’s birthday, you coming?” he asks.

“Mhm,” Aris mumbles. “Laser tag. Tuesday. I’m in.”

“Cool, I’ll tell Thomas. There’s medicine in the cabinet for your head, by the way.” 

He leaves Aris dozing off once more with his mouth slightly open, which reminds Newt of the reason why he never chooses to drink, and fires off a text to Minho as he braces himself through the cold winter morning. It’s still relentlessly unforgiving despite the extra layer he remembered to put on, and the hotdog scarf he’s wrapped snugly around his neck. 

But it’s only around eleven that Newt checks his phone and notices messages from three different people while he’s tucked away in a cosy corner of the library.

**Tommy:** [9:39]

teresa woke me up at three so i could ask you if you wanted to come. and by woke up i mean i was literally jumped on. she was drunk but i got her back for it this morning x

**Sonya Liz:** [10:25]

Hey Newt can I Facetime you at two instead of this evening? Or tomorrow if you can’t do today? Hope you’re okay miss you loads xxxx

**Min:** [10:51]

LASER TAG? TELL YOUR BF I SAY YES PLEASE!!!

\--

It’s two o’clock and Newt is sitting alone in the mostly empty cafeteria with his phone propped up against his glass of water as he nibbles half-heartedly on a sandwich, having boycotted his dorm room because Aris and Sonya are known to chat their mouths off for hours, and the pair of them together (even if it is via Facetime) has proven to be explosive.

Fortunately, not literally.

Within seconds, the Facetime call connects and Sonya’s face appears on his screen, and Newt can’t help the smile that appears on his face at the sight of his sister who he sees every week on their weekly calls, but hasn’t seen in person since Christmas. He misses her a lot more than he ever lets on. 

“Newt!” she yells into her microphone, and Newt winces at how loud her voice sounds in the quiet of the cafeteria.

“Lizzy!” 

He uses the nickname he’s used for as long as he can remember, from when they were both little and pronouncing his sister’s name was a little tricky. He’s not sure why he nicknamed Sonya’s middle name instead of her first name, but ever since then, it’s stuck.

“So I heard something _really_ interesting today,” Sonya says with a smile that Newt has learnt can only mean trouble. “Something Rachel told me.”

“Are you expecting me to guess?” Newt asks with a frown when his sister fails to elaborate.

“No, I’m expecting you to tell me about you and _Tommy!”_

Newt’s mouth falls open, “How the bloody hell do you know about him?”

“I have my sources,” Sonya says with a shrug.

“And by sources do you mean Rachel?” asks Newt. “Because you can’t trust most of what comes out of Aris’s mouth, and if he told her—”

“See, that’s why I needed to ask you myself! So come on. Spill the beans.”

Even as Newt pinches the bridge of his nose in despair, he knows that Sonya was going to find out about Thomas sooner or later, whether that be through Rachel via Aris, or through Newt himself not being able to shut up about him. “Well, what did Rachel tell you?”

Sonya raises an eyebrow. “You sure you want to know that?”

“Yeah, no,” Newt says with a sigh and the knowledge that there is no easy way out of this situation. He’s going to have to tell her. “So basically. Thomas is a guy that I met from the coffee shop—”

“A guy that you like?”

“I’m getting to that. He gave me his number—”

“No way!”

“Yes, way. And we’ve been hanging out since then, but—”

“As friends? Or more than friends?”

“ _I’m getting to that bloody hell just let me speak!”_

He’s pretty certain he receives a few sidewards glances from the few people in the cafeteria, and gets to enjoy listening Sonya cackle with laughter because she has always been too impatient for her own good and she knows it. In fact, Newt’s pretty sure that everyone in this cafeteria now knows it, too.

Eventually, he manages to inform his sister of the truth regarding Thomas, and they finally move on to talking about Sonya’s week which varies quite majorly from pulling an all nighter for an essay she thought was due the next day but is actually due next week, to having a girl in her class fall onto her through a window. She is midway through explaining this story when she suddenly cuts off mid-sentence and Newt doesn’t have time to consider why she’s stopped talking, considering it usually takes yelling at her to make it happen, when he is engulfed in a familiar warmth with arms wrapping around him from behind. 

At first he tenses, because the gesture is so foreign to him and feels so strangely intimate in a way that he hadn’t thought possible from a simple hug. Except, Newt feels his muscles loosen and a smile is quick to paint his face when he realises who the only person giving him a backwards hug could be.

“Hey Newt,” Thomas mumbles, and Newt momentarily forgets all about his sister on the Facetime call in front of him.

That is until she gasps loudly and Newt feels Thomas jump slightly and loosen his grip when he notices her face on the screen. “No way,” Sonya says slowly. “Is that _Tommy?”_

“Is that _Sonya?”_ Thomas asks as he takes a seat beside Newt, now grinning wildly. 

“Yes it’s me!” yells Sonya. “I guess Newt mentioned me to you?”

“He did. Did he mention _me?”_

“Oh he did.”

“He did?”

Newt does not miss the very unsubtle way that Sonya is now looking at them both, with one eyebrow slightly raised and evil written all over her face. “He definitely did.”

It’s safe to say that Newt was never going to be ready for the day Thomas met Sonya, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. He’s partially dreading what might come out of Sonya’s mouth, if he’s honest.

“I think we’ve already established that I've talked about both of you,” Newt cuts in before another ‘he did’ can be spoken. 

“That’s sweet,” says Thomas, pressing their shoulders together. “I hope it was only good things you said about me?”

“Oh it was the _very_ best,” Sonya pipes up, and Newt knows that he’s in for a ride with these two, whether he likes it or not. “Also, Newt. I know you said he’s cute but you didn’t say he’s _this cute!”_

 _“Sonya!”_ Newt yells in pure embarrassment, and he feels the heat instantly rise to his cheeks. “He’s right here!”

“Yeah I know, I’m just saying—”

“And I’m just telling you to shut your bloody hole before I pay Rachel to do it for me, because she will do anything for a bit of cash and I know—”

“Jesus Christ Newt, _chill!”_ Sonya says, already cackling with laughter. “I was just giving him a compliment.”

A compliment which handily exposes the fact that Newt had actually been talking about Thomas like that just minutes before he’d appeared behind him, which Thomas definitely doesn’t fail to realise considering the shy smile now residing on his face. Newt wants to kiss it off.

“I’m flattered that the Wenley twins think I’m _cute_ ,” Thomas says as he rubs nervously at the nape of his neck. “But I’m no match against either of you two, honestly.”

Newt spins around in his seat to face Thomas with a frown. “That’s not true! How can you think that?”

“Well, you’ve got the whole blond thing going for you and, y’know, your… face,” Thomas makes a gesture with his hand which could have been directed at either Newt or Sonya, or maybe both, and Newt finds it hard to believe that they’re actually indulging in this conversation. 

“My face?” Newt echoes.

“Yeah, your face. It’s… it’s a nice face.”

“You think?”

“Yeah I do,” Thomas says with more conviction than before, though Newt doesn’t miss the way he swallows thickly as soon as the words leave his mouth.

When Newt looks Thomas in the eye and holds his gaze, all he can hear is the rush of blood and the ever increasing pounding of his heart because that gaze _does things_ to him that nothing and no one has ever done before. But of course Thomas is the exception, because everything about him is so endearing despite his occasional lack of eloquence, and Newt can’t believe he’s fallen so hard in a matter of days. 

“Well now I feel like I’m intruding.”

The slightly muffled voice of his sister brings him crashing back to reality, and he looks away from Thomas with a smile despite the interruption, and glances back at the screen of his phone and the image of Sonya’s smirking face. “Anyway,” Newt says quickly. “Moving on. I never actually asked, Tommy. How come you’re here? I thought you were covering a shift in the Homestead?”

“Yeah my boss, Jorge, didn’t need me to cover anymore so I thought I’d come and find you. I didn’t realise you were calling Sonya, though, so I can leave you guys to catch up if you want me to give you some space,” says Thomas.

“No, you can stay,” Newt says with a small shake of his head. “I mean, if you want. You can stay if you want.”

“Okay. Then I’ll stay.”

Newt tries not to stare again, but he can see Thomas looking at him out of his periphery with a smile that threatens to break the tentative restraints he’s placed around his heart. He knows that without being held back, his heart would gladly be jumping across the small space between the two of them with no regard for its fragility. But he can’t give it away that easily; he can’t give it away without knowing that it will be handled with care. 

He trusts Thomas. He just isn’t sure whether Thomas wants the burden of his heart. 

“As sweet as this is, I really wouldn’t mind if I could finish telling my story of how Ximena fell on me in class when she climbed in through the window,” Sonya pipes up.

Thomas snorts, “Don’t let us stop you.”

“I mean, I appreciate the sentiment but you’re both pretty distracting when you’re staring at one another like you want to rip each other’s clothes off.”

_“Sonya!”_

\--

**Sonya Liz:** [3:12] 

(image) Are you kidding me?!?? I had to witness these sappy heart eyes Newt and you seriously still think he doesn’t like you?!! And no, I’m not going to apologise either because I could feel the sexual tension through my phone and it was off putting

As soon as Newt had ended the call with his sister, he’d yelled at her through text and demanded an apology for making everything weird until she’d stopped going on about that Ximena girl in her class, because she can go on for hours and actually might have if Newt hadn’t lied about his phone battery being low as an excuse to hang up. He loves his sister, but _bloody hell._

Anyway, he tries to turn his phone screen away from Thomas as they walk side by side in the direction of his place, and Newt reluctantly scrolls his screen up to view the picture that Sonya just sent him. 

_And. Okay_. 

Newt almost drops his phone because Sonya had apparently managed to sneak a screenshot from their Facetime call of him and Thomas literally gazing into each other's eyes, and that image alone is enough to send shivers down his spine. Does he really look at Thomas with that much… _adoration?_ And does Thomas really look at him the same way?

No. Surely not. It’s just one snapshot of that moment, it can’t possibly mean anything. 

Right?

He replaces the phone in his pocket before he can embarrass himself by letting Thomas see the photo, because that would just be. Ha. That would just be the cherry on the top, wouldn’t it? Sonya really knows how to keep his life interesting, even from a different state.

There’s one fleeting moment, as they walk at a relatively slow pace with hands brushing every now and again, that Newt imagines what it would be like to feel the warmth of Thomas' hand against his palm. 

He can picture it so vividly: It would be a hesitant, tentative thing, and yet the most certain thing he’s done in his life. His fingers would flex before slowly, carefully, lacing with Thomas'. It would be like a question embellished with a layer of newfound determination. How that question would be answered, he isn’t sure. 

Maybe that’s for him to find out. Eventually. Someday. But not today. 

Today, he is content with what he has right beside him. Because he didn’t have this a week ago, and he wants to hang on to this for as long as he can. When someone makes you feel this much, you’d do anything to hang onto it for as long as you can. Especially after experiencing a period in time of being unable to feel much of anything at all. 

Three years ago, when he’d been bound to a hospital bed with a shedload of painkillers turning him delirious, Newt couldn’t imagine having what he has now. When he’d jumped, he’d lost all hope that anything like this would ever happen to him. To feel so alive and so at peace with what he has. To enjoy living and want to experience more of it. 

And that, Newt thinks, is his biggest achievement of all.

“You okay?” Thomas asks with a nudge of their shoulders. “You’ve gone quiet.”

Newt smiles, “Yeah, just thinking.”

“Good thoughts?” 

“Definitely good thoughts.” _And maybe I’ll tell you one day._

Thomas doesn’t delve deeper in the short amount of time it takes to end up back in the maroon-carpeted hallway of his shared house, and Newt expects that between them, they have rather a lot that they’d like to share with the other someday. From Brenda to his mum, it sure sounds like Thomas has a story to tell. As for when he’s ready to share it, Newt doesn’t mind. All he cares about is that Thomas feels comfortable in sharing it with him. 

So for now, among a sea of greetings from the fellow housemates, Newt allows his thoughts to fade into the background and for a smile of genuine joy to remain plastered across his face as a gaming controller is thrust in his hand and he joins the gathering in the living room. 

Among the chorus of exclamations for someone to finally start the game, Newt meets Thomas' eye. He smiles. And he relishes in this newfound feeling. A feeling he has yet to find a name for, but a feeling he will always welcome with open arms. 

“I swear to God, Teresa! If you do that one more time I will—”

“Thomas are you even paying attention dude?”

“Woah, Newt! How are you so good at this?”

“Bloody hell Tommy that’s obstruction!”

The final remark was Newt’s own, after Thomas had handily swiped his controller from his hands just as he was about to cross the finish line in first place, because all those Mario Kart tournaments with Minho and Aris weren’t for nothing. As he makes a wild lunge for the controller which Thomas is holding at a distance, Newt finds himself allowing all his body weight to come crashing down on Thomas as he tackles him to the floor in a flurry of manic laughter.

 _“Nooooo Newt!”_ Thomas yells as Newt successfully manages to grasp the controller.

“Ha! You’ll think twice next time before you—”

He gets cut off as all the air leaves his lungs when Thomas rolls him over so he’s the one lying on his back. And that’s. Well. That’s a thing that’s happening.

“What was that, Newt?” Thomas asks slightly breathlessly. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

With eyes wide, all Newt is able to do is stare at the boy who is basically straddling him as he pins his wrists down, with dark brown hair flopping over his eyes and lips slightly parted into a smirk like he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. It shouldn’t feel like this but it does. It shouldn’t feel as if everything has gone muted around them, but it _does._ It does and Newt doesn’t know what to think.

“Are you really such a sore loser that you have to pin me to the floor to stop me from winning?” he teases, though the blush on his cheeks is surely enough to give away what he’s really feeling. “What are you going to do now, Tommy?”

He relishes in the way Thomas' eyes seem to widen, before his expression settles into something that Newt knows he could get addicted to far too quickly; something daring that makes his heart flutter and his breath catch in his chest. “Firstly, I am not a sore loser. Secondly, I can think of a couple of things I could do right now, but there are _onlookers_ present.”

_Bloody hell. Does he know what that implies? Does he know what he’s saying?_

It takes a lot more energy than Newt would ever admit in order to form a coherent sentence, let alone a good enough comeback to _that._ “Since when have you been concerned about _onlookers?_ Go ahead. Get your revenge if you’re so bloody desperate,” he says with a suggestive twinkle in his eyes, though he’s almost certain they’re no longer talking about Mario Kart.

“If this is a battle, I think I’ve already won this one, Newton.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Newt says with a futile struggle against the restraints Thomas continues to maintain on his wrists.

Except this time, Thomas leans in closer. Newt hardly dares to breathe when Thomas' warm breath hits the skin of his neck, because the suspense is killing him and his thoughts have been obliterated into mush. 

An unsuppressable shiver runs down Newt’s spine as Thomas' words come as a whisper into his ear. “I’ll call you whatever I like, babe.”

But, as quickly as it had happened, Thomas pulls away. He pushes himself back up into a more presentable position, and Newt follows suit with his heart in his throat. His hair’s a mess and his glasses are pushed slightly askew, but he rakes a hand through the curls and attempts to straighten himself out (which is never going to happen, he’s kidding nobody) as he tears his gaze away from a smirking Thomas and regains his focus on the game onscreen. 

As escalations go, that was one Newt knows he’ll be replaying in his head for weeks, if not months. But the best part is, questionably, the fact that Thomas' attempts of sabotage against Newt’s hard-earned success have apparently failed miserably.

Maybe one of them had accidentally pressed down on the controller at some point, because Newt hadn’t noticed until now that he’d come in first place, and Thomas in last.

Now that is what he’d call bittersweet karma.


	7. i think i'm falling, i'm falling for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Y’know, if you shanks are making out in the dark somewhere then Aris owes me thirty dollars.”
> 
> “Only thirty?” Thomas yells back. “C’mon, man. You can do better than that.”
> 
> “Why? Does that mean you are? Please say you are, I could really use that thirty dollars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: fallingforyou - the 1975

For a Tuesday evening, having a laser gun tucked under one arm and the required black vest on with the looming threat of maze-like, neon illuminated corridors is quite a stark contrast to what Newt would usually find himself indulging in. He can’t help but blame Thomas for all this social activity lately, what with Minho’s party and now Teresa’s laser tag event for her birthday. If they’d never spoken, Newt would not be standing here today, wondering what on earth a Griever is and why Minho is so desperate to be one.

“I’m just saying, the Griever team is superior and I want in,” he says with a frantic wave of his laser gun that he’s apparently trying to trade with Aris who, quite frankly, doesn’t look like he could really care less about which team he’s on.

In this game, there’s a Griever team and the Runner team, which the host artfully explained to them as he handed out the guns which illuminate green and blue depending on the team you’re in. The winning team is the one which manages to get the most ‘hits’ on the opposite team as they all run around the huge maze structure which looks like something from a horror film, if Newt is honest. Laser tag isn’t usually his thing, what with the strain on his bad leg, but the looks on both Teresa’s and Thomas' faces is enough to remind him why he’s here. 

Plus, the music blaring from the speakers is pretty great. Whoever put  _ Social Cues  _ on this playlist has taste.

“Ready to be a Runner?” Thomas leans in to whisper.

“Only if we don’t get attacked by Grievers too often.”

He’s grateful that he and Thomas are going to be on the same team, the Runners, along with Aris who has apparently handed his Griever gun over to Minho. There are a few people he knows from the night he spent at Thomas' place, but a couple of them are Teresa’s friends who ended up on the opposite team to the birthday girl who also, for some reason, was desperate to be a Griever. She and Minho are eerily alike in some ways, and Newt doesn’t know what to make of that.

It isn’t long before they’re entering the maze of black walls and contrasting neon lights which are already making Newt feel disorientated, even though he and Thomas are still right by the entrance, having watched everyone else sprint off into the darkness as they await the moment their laser guns come online. Adrenaline quickly begins to fuel his body as anticipation and expectation rise with every passing second. 

“Want to stick together or split up?” Thomas asks as he eyes the endless options of corridors before them. It really is scarily maze-like, and Newt isn’t sure he’s not going to get completely lost in here.

“Let’s stay together for now,” he says. “But you can run off whenever you get bored of me.”

“Why would I get bored of you?” Thomas asks with a frown, and Newt momentarily forgets that they’re supposed to be running to get ready for when the laser guns activate. Currently, they’re like sitting ducks just waiting to be shot at, but he can’t seem to make himself care all that much.

“Just like, if you want to?” He says it like a question and immediately bites his lip to stop himself exposing more of his insecurities because Thomas doesn’t need that burden. At least, Newt doesn’t want him to have that burden.

But Thomas simply smiles and reaches, with such certainty, for his hand. “That’s the last thing I want. Trust me.”

It’s not so much  _ holding hands  _ as it is being dragged through corridors which threaten to conceal a multitude of horrors—or just Minho—behind every bend, as they search for a place to seek temporary refuge. The guns will be on any second now, surely. They pass Frypan and Ben, then Teresa and one of her friends Beth who is somehow a lot more threatening within the maze than she was outside, before a hum of electricity signals activation.

A battle cry can be heard nearby. The game begins.

The first few minutes are a blur of colour and laughter with shouts of only mildly concerning distress, where Newt sticks to Thomas like glue and they end up firing a lot more successful shots than unsuccessful. They make a good team, the two of them. Especially when they manage to follow an ignorant Minho into the rest station for the Griever team: the Griever hole, as it’s apparently informally known. 

Newt doesn’t ask questions. He just shoots them and leaves as quickly as he’d arrived.

There’s also a place that the Runner team are calling the Glade, where Newt and Thomas have encountered Aris and Frypan having a chat on more than one occasion, much to their irritance because  _ ‘this is laser tag, you shanks, not a mothers meeting. Move your asses!’ _

After the event which had Newt pinned to the floor beneath Thomas, he’d imagined that the two of them being together like this might be at least slightly awkward. It isn’t however, and Newt is grateful for that fact. He somehow likes how it changed nothing between them, even though the sound of Thomas calling him  _ babe  _ has been echoing in his head ever since. 

But that’s entirely beside the point.

A flash of light in Newt’s periphery has him grabbing Thomas' arm and hauling them behind a wall at a speed he never knew he was capable of. “Bloody hell, was that Minho?” he hisses with wide eyes that frantically search their surroundings.

“I couldn’t tell. It could have—”

“If you shanks think I can’t hear you, then you are very much wrong.”

Minho’s voice rings through the silence at a distance that’s a little too close for comfort, and Newt grasps Thomas’ hand in his own without really thinking about it, to tug them further around yet another corner. But, when Thomas entwines their fingers together like it’s the simplest thing in the world, he decides he really doesn’t care about the looming threat of his best friend and a laser gun nearby. 

Because Thomas is holding his hand.

Hang on, _ Thomas is holding his hand.  _ Since when was that something that happened? Since when was that something that Thomas was onboard with as well? 

As Newt’s mind wanders, he momentarily forgets about the game they’re supposed to be playing and startles when Minho yells something else at them from a much more comfortable distance than before. “Y’know, if you shanks are making out in the dark somewhere then Aris owes me thirty dollars.”

“Only thirty?” Thomas yells back. “C’mon, man. You can do better than that.”

“Why? Does that mean you are? Please say you are, I could really use that thirty dollars.”

“Bloody hell Minho who do you think we are?” Newt asks, and is grateful for the low lighting so Thomas can’t see just how flustered he is.

“Well—”

“Actually, you know what. Don’t answer that,” Newt says with a sigh and follows without a word when Thomas pulls him away from Minho’s ever-looming voice.

“Why not? Teresa told me what happened on Saturday with you two at Thomas’ house so don’t think I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on,” shouts Newt. “Now are we playing this game or what?”

“I don’t know. Am I going to get that thirty dollars when I find you?” asks Minho.

Newt rolls his eyes and just notices that Minho’s standing a short distance in front of them with his back to them just as he peers around the next corner. “Not yet,” he says, reaching his gun around the corner and firing. 

He doesn’t get to consider the meaning of his own words because Minho yelps in surprise and comes at them in a run which sends the three of them crashing around corners with laughter echoing between the walls. It’s silly and it’s stupid and it’s everything that Newt has grown to love about life itself. 

It’s like nothing he could have imagined when he woke up in a hospital bed to his parents and sister crying; to Minho’s face of devastation and the regret that came with it all. 

He hates to think that if he’d succeed in his attempt on that terrible day, he wouldn’t have been able to experience this. He would never have met Thomas. He would never have felt this joy at being able to exist in a moment with people he cares about and have that be enough. To come to college and pull an all-nighter but end up friends with the boy from the coffee shop. To meet so many new people and have them accept him into their lives because he’s not a burden, no matter how much his head sometimes tries to convince him he is. 

Newt is just grateful.

Even when he’s being shot at with a laser gun by his best friend who apparently has terrible aim, and even when he and Thomas end up surrounded by the Griever team because Minho is cunning and successfully managed to lead them straight into the Griever hole, he is grateful.

“Bloody hell,” is what he manages to get out before shots are fired and all hell breaks loose.

He’s aware of Thomas shielding him as he bares the brunt of the laser shots, and Newt takes his chance and uses his own gun to land a few shots on the exposed Grievers who slowly seem to back off when they realise that Newt and Thomas on the same team are a force to be reckoned with. 

Tonight, the Grievers should be scared.

“Sorry about your thirty dollars, Minho!” Thomas yells to the retreating boys back. “Better luck at catching us next time!”

_ Next time.  _ There it is again. 

The implicit meaning behind those words is tangible, and yet Newt finds himself debating whether Thomas could really mean it like he desperately wants him to. Newt had implied it himself that there might be a ‘next time’, but here Thomas is yelling it out to the world so shamelessly, as if he doesn’t mind the thought of actually kissing him. 

“Next time?” Newt murmurs with a sudden surge of bravery as they make their way back through the dimly lit corridors of the maze.

It takes a few moments for Thomas to reply, after firing a shot of his laser gun in the direction of what Newt thinks is a fleeing Teresa. “Only if you think he deserves that thirty dollars,” he says with a shrug.

“He actually owes me thirty dollars so it would be in my benefit to be honest,” Newt says, denying nothing yet not admitting anything. Two can play this subtle flirting game.

“What does he owe you for?”

“How long have you got? The list is long, Tommy.”

“Wow. Guess we should get you that thirty dollars then, yeah?” Thomas murmurs, and Newt honestly has no idea whether this has turned into joking or not-so-subtle flirting anymore. He really hopes it’s the latter.

“I mean, if you’re up for it,” he manages to choke out with the smallest huff of breath.

Thomas turns to him with a smile and a wink that’s enough to set off the swarm of butterflies in his stomach. “Anything for you babe.”

\--

After a short rest break in which Newt learns that the Runner team are a whole twenty points ahead of the Grievers, much to Minho’s dissatisfaction, they all head back into the dark corridors of the maze with a newfound determination. 

Well, most of them are focused on the game. Newt’s having trouble focusing on anything other than Thomas' promise.

Can you really blame him, though?

It’s no secret, at least to him, that he has feelings for Thomas. Actually, it probably runs a lot deeper than that, but that’s entirely beside the point. The point is, Newt is finding it hard to tell whether Thomas is simply being ironic when he calls him ‘babe’ and promises to kiss him so Minho can pay up the thirty dollars he owes. That isn’t something any of his other friends would do or say to him, so what’s so different with Thomas? Why does it constantly feel like they’re on the edge of flirting but never following through with it?

Who knows, maybe it’s just all inside his head. Maybe his stupid little crush is simply just that; an unrequited crush. He really hopes it isn’t.

Newt allows his mind to wander as he shoots at people from the Griever team and jokes around with his fellow teammates in passing, only realising that he’s lost Thomas when he turns around to talk to him but he’s gone. In the time it takes for him to slow to a stop and try to work out where Thomas has gone, he’s already being shot at. A flash of long brown hair behind the next corner has him creeping up to her with as much stealth as he can manage.

He waits a couple of seconds before reaching around the corner and firing at Teresa, at the exact same moment that someone else does the same from the other end of this corridor. 

Teresa yelps in surprise. “You guys! Seriously, a two on one attack is just brutal. Especially on the birthday girl!”

The figure engulfed in darkness finally steps out of the shadows and Newt is unsurprised to find that it’s Thomas. “Sorry, Resa. That wasn’t planned, I swear.”

“Hmm,” she narrows her eyes at both boys. “Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

“He’s telling the truth,” says Newt. “I promise.”

Teresa juts her chin up in the air defiantly before nodding once and brushing past Thomas, only turning back to shoot them both within the same second before she runs off. It happens so quickly that neither boy has a chance to shoot her back.

Thomas shakes his head with a smile as he approaches. “Well at least I found you.”

The words have barely left his mouth before yet another laser shot takes them both by surprise, and Thomas is pulling them around a corner and through to a new section of the maze with short lengths of wall staggered in rows that go on for what feels like forever. Newt knows he has the potential to get incredibly lost in here, and is glad to have Thomas by his side again.

Thomas continues to wind through the endless corridors, muttering something along the lines of ‘he’s getting closer’. Newt assumes he means that the shooter is still following them.

They have two options: wait them out, or seek them out. 

Now, Newt’s never been one for strategy but he’s pretty certain that the best way to win this game isn’t for Thomas to suddenly turn and push him back against a wall like he is, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Jesus bloody Christ Tommy, what are you—”

“It’s Minho,” Thomas whispers in response, and he’s standing so close that Newt could count every freckle scattered across his cheekbones if he wanted to. Not that he’s thinking about it at that moment.

“Minho?”

“Yeah. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Newt isn’t typically an intellectually slow person, and he’s embarrassed about how long it takes to realise what on earth Thomas is going on about. When he does, he can’t help the sharp intake of breath he has to take to try and dull the sudden butterflies in his stomach.

He’s intensely aware of Thomas' hands on him; one is placed on his shoulder but the other is resting so carefully against his waist. And Thomas is looking at him with such care that Newt has to remind himself that this is part of a bet; that this is so Minho can win his bet with Aris and repay the debts he has with Newt. 

In all honesty, Newt couldn’t care less about the money. But he will pretend he does if it means he gets to stand this close to Thomas and have everything feel real for just a fleeting moment. He can pretend, just this once, that his feelings are reciprocated.

“Newt?” Thomas asks, and Newt realises he’s been staring.

“Uh, yeah. If you’re okay with it, I mean.”

“Of course I am,” Thomas murmurs as his eyes dip down to Newt’s lips. “He’s getting closer, I can hear his footsteps.”

All Newt can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and the pounding of his heart, so he has no idea whether anything Thomas is saying is true. He nods nonetheless. It just feels like something of a dream; being pressed up against a wall of a maze with laser guns discarded by their feet, with Thomas’ presence overwhelming his senses.

Except it’s better than a dream. 

He never feels this alive when it’s all inside his head.

“Tommy,” he whispers as he rests a hand on the side of the boy’s neck.

“Yeah?”

“We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to—”

A firm press against his lips shuts him the hell up.

Thomas kisses him gently, tentatively, like he’s afraid of pushing it too far, except that isn’t what Newt wants right now, not when he’s unsure how long he’s allowed this for. When his hand tangles in brown locks of hair, just like he’s imagined doing, Thomas hums somewhere low in his throat and that feels like permission enough.

His body melts against Thomas' as their lips slide together, and it’s simultaneously the hottest and most fantastical thing he’s ever done in his nineteen years of life that he can’t help the flutter in his chest and the crackle of sparks that shoot along his nerves with every caress of lips and skin. It shouldn’t feel this good but it does. He doesn’t want to remember that this isn’t for real; that this is purely for show.

He has one fleeting thought that Minho’s taking a while to find them, which is discarded quickly into oblivion when Thomas parts his lips and everything is so hot; hotter than the sun, even, that he’s not sure how they aren’t completely burning up. Maybe they are. Maybe they are and neither boy can care less. Everything could be exploding around them but he wouldn’t even flinch. He wants to hold onto this for as long as he physically can. 

“Newt,” Thomas murmurs against his lips, but Newt is quick to silence him as he presses their mouths together once more, tugging on the fabric of Thomas' shirt to hold him closer.

For just a couple more seconds, he can imagine that this is what kissing Thomas would be like if he was his boyfriend. If it wasn’t part of a bet. He can imagine how it might feel to have this whenever he wanted; not just in a dark maze when they’re supposed to be playing laser tag. 

It’s enough, he thinks, to have at least experienced what that might be like. 

For just a few minutes, Thomas was his.

“I was half joking when I placed that bet but now I’m glad that I did.”

Newt pulls away from Thomas’ lips just enough to see his best friend standing there watching them with a laser gun tucked under one arm and his phone held up towards them, recording. He’s never been more disappointed to see Minho in his life.

“Bloody hell, Min!” Newt gasps as he tries to get his breath back. “Are you actually serious right now? How long were you filming for?”

Minho shrugs. “Long enough to get the evidence I needed. Thanks, lovers. Ta-ta for now!”

Before either boy can get another word in, Minho is disappearing back off through the maze leaving them both still in such close proximity. Newt still hasn’t released Thomas’ shirt from his vice-like grip.

He’s about to let him go and apologise when he looks back at him and every word that had been on the tip of his tongue completely dissolves. Thomas’ pupils are dilated in a way that makes them appear so much darker than usual, and his lips are slightly wet and swollen which sends an involuntary shiver down Newt’s spine despite the burning hot heat left over from what they just did. 

For a moment, they just stare at each other.

It’s in moments like these that Newt wishes he could be a mind-reader; to know exactly what thoughts are racing through Thomas' mind right now. Is he regretting this? Is he disgusted by what they just did? Does he wish he’d never offered to be a part of this stupid bet?

A flicker of something inexplicable passes across Thomas' face as his eyes dip back down to Newt’s lips before quickly resettling to meet his gaze. They’re still standing so close because neither boy has moved away just yet, and Newt can just picture what might happen if he chose to close the distance between them once more. He likes to think that maybe Thomas wouldn’t stop him. That maybe he’d enjoyed that kiss, too. 

Maybe in another universe.

“Thanks, Tommy,” is what he manages to say eventually. “That was—”

He never gets to complete his sentence because there’s a sudden hum of electricity as fluorescent lights go up, signalling the end of the game. Not that either of them really played much this round.

With the lights on, Newt can see everything so clearly now: Thomas' messed up hair, his wrinkled shirt from where Newt had it fisted in his hand, and the slightly surprised yet satisfied look on his face. Any thoughts Newt had before are turned to mush when Thomas smiles at him.

“Y’know,” he says as he raises a hand to wipe his thumb along Newt’s bottom lip which is still slightly wet. “You’re a great kisser.”

Newt fails to fight the blush that rises to his cheeks. “Thanks. So are you.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Thomas hums appreciatively, “Are we going to tell him?”

“Tell who what?” Newt asks, still lost in the feeling of having Thomas so close.

“Tell Minho why we did it.”

“I guess so,” says Newt. “Let Aris pay up and then confess, I suppose.”

Even though he was highly aware that this was just so Minho could win that bet and repay the money he owes Newt, it still feels like a punch to the stomach to be reminded as such. He’d let him get so caught up in everything  _ Thomas  _ that he’d forgotten to be realistic. Newt would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt.

“Good plan,” Thomas says with a nod and takes a step away from Newt who struggles not to chase the contact. “We should probably head out. The others will be waiting for us.”

They follow the arrows back out towards the exit after picking up their laser guns from where they’d discarded them on the floor, and are met with wolf whistles and laughter as soon as their friends come into view. The first person Newt acknowledges is Aris who has his arms crossed in front of his chest and a smirk playing on his lips, and he mumbles something about losing the bet as they walk past him. Newt only feels slightly guilty.

The next person he’s forced to notice is Teresa who flashes a video up on her phone and shoves in Newt’s face. “Hey, lovebirds. Guess who just got blackmail ammunition from Minho?”

Newt struggles to tear his eyes away from the video which shows, albeit a little unclearly, him and Thomas pressed up against that wall. It’s hot as hell and Newt has to avert his gaze to avoid any more embarrassment becoming evident on his face. All these people cooing at them is bad enough. How they’re going to break the news that it wasn’t actually real is completely beyond him.

“Dude!” Minho yells from his position near the scoreboard. “How come your team still won when you shanks were making out in the dark for so long? Tell me how that’s fair.”

Newt doesn’t know what to say to him. 


	8. can't find paradise on the ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well you’ve not been avoiding just anyone all evening have you? You didn’t kiss just anyone. And yell at me if I’m wrong but I think those two things are connected here.”
> 
> “So what if they are?”
> 
> “So you need to talk to him. He really likes you, Newt. You can’t just throw away what you guys have got,” says Teresa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: all we do - oh wonder

Newt is avoiding Thomas. He hadn’t set out actively trying to, but he is.

As he sits out in the piercing cold winter evening with no coat, on Thomas' back doorstep while everyone else is celebrating inside, he’s avoiding him.

At first, everything had been fine. Okay, it had been a little awkward when they had to explain to Minho and Teresa that they actually aren’t getting together, and that the kiss had literally just been because of that bet. The look on Minho’s face was enough to make Newt regret a fair few things.

It was only as the group had made their way back to Thomas and Teresa’s shared house to celebrate the rest of Teresa’s birthday that Newt began to drift away from Thomas' side. If he’s honest, their kiss had been so prominent and so consuming in his mind that he was struggling to think about anything else. Not when the memory of Thomas' lips on his was so raw.

He’d stuck by Minho as soon as they’d got here to give Teresa her gifts—Newt had bought her a few books that he himself loved, as Thomas had convinced him to—but could feel Thomas' gaze on him the whole time. It was distracting, to say the least. Especially when he was desperately trying not to look back.

So Newt has now retreated to the garden, wishing once again that he’d brought a warm coat, as he sits on the step with his knees tucked up to his chest and arms wrapped around himself. He just needs a minute alone. After what happened, he just needs to think. Because he didn’t think about the consequences when he kissed Thomas; how he might feel when he realises he can never have that for real. As sappy as it sounds.

Gentle laughter echoes from inside the house, a stark contrast to the serenity of the cold evening. He would go back inside if he was brave enough to face the cruelties his mind is forcing on him; if he thought he could face Thomas without all his walls crumbling down. But he’s not sure he can. At least, not right away.

When Newt hears the backdoor sliding open behind him, his body tenses and he half expects to see Thomas standing there when he jerks his head around to look. He doesn’t, however, and lets out a relieved sigh when he realises it’s Minho.

“Hey Min,” he says, shuffling across on the step to allow space for his friend.

“What are you doing out here?” Minho asks in greeting. “It’s shuckin’ freezing, man.”

“Yeah I gathered.”

Minho falls silent and Newt can feel his gaze against the side of his face. Somehow, Minho’s always known how to read him. “Thomas was looking for you,” he says eventually, and that’s enough to recapture Newt’s interest.

“Well he didn’t try very hard did he?” says Newt.

“No, he saw you out here. He told me he didn’t want to bother you.”

“Why?”

Minho shrugs. “I don’t know. But, Newt, you should talk to him.”

“I’m fine, Min,” Newt says with a sigh as he tightens his grasp around his knees. He’s aware he probably looks anything but fine sat out here in the freezing cold February evening without his coat.

“If it’s about the bet, I didn’t mean to—”

“I said I’m  _ fine, _ ” snaps Newt. “You did nothing wrong, okay?”

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is almost worse than the misdirected anger itself. He hates that Minho bears the brunt of his snappy moods without protest, and that he has to see the effects of Newt’s depression through all its highs and lows. Especially the lows. He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself for putting Minho through what he did, and the way he’d acted in the first few days after the incident. There’s so much he wishes he could take back. But hurting his best friend is definitely top of that list.

“Sorry for snapping at you,” Newt murmurs, shifting uncomfortably on the step and adjusting his glasses on his nose. “Nothing’s your fault. It’s just me. My fault. Overthinking as usual.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Newt shakes his head quickly. “No thanks.”

“Okay, well if you need a shank to talk to, you know I’m your guy,” Minho says as he rests a hand on Newt’s shoulder, a gesture that speaks a thousand words.

Newt manages a small smile, meeting his friend’s gaze. “Thank you Minho. Really.”

When Minho goes to stand up from the step, he suddenly seems to remember something and reaches into his pocket to pull out the thirty dollars that Newt is deeply regretting becoming involved in. “I believe this is yours,” he says with a smile.

“Keep it.”

“What?”

“Keep it,” says Newt. “I don’t want it.”

“But you kissed Thomas for this,” says Minho, still holding the money out in his hand.

“I kissed Thomas because I wanted to,” Newt says quickly, before he has the chance to consider his words, instantly closing his eyes when he realises he just said that out loud. “Don’t tell him I said that. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I won’t. I promise. You should be the one to tell him that, when you’re ready. I’ll delete the video and I’ll get Teresa to do the same. I’m sorry for getting so involved,” Minho says so sincerely that it makes Newt’s heart ache. “I’m going to head home but you should stay for a while, at least try and talk to him. For your sake and for his.”

Newt nods, turns away and whispers, “I’ll try.”

\--

It’s late when Newt finally heads back inside with the determination to try and at least talk to Thomas if he’s still downstairs. Most of the guests have left by now, except for a few of Teresa’s close friends, and he’s worried that he’s overstayed his welcome. 

He also feels bad about not talking to Teresa all that much tonight, and is relieved when he finds himself face to face in the hallway with the birthday girl herself. “Hey Newt,” she says with a smile. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah I was going to head home. Thanks for inviting me, I had a fun time,” Newt says, with just a twang of disappointment in his tone; he can’t see or hear Thomas anywhere.

“Thanks for coming, it’s been a great birthday,” Teresa says as she pulls him into a hug.

“I’m glad.”

Newt is about to step around her when she pulls away from the embrace, but Teresa’s grasp on his wrist holds him in place and the desperation in her gaze keeps him from trying to move away. “You need to talk to him,” she whispers, as if worried about being overheard. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two but you need to talk it out.”

“With Thomas?” asks Newt.

Teresa rolls her eyes with an exasperated smile. “Yes, with Thomas, you idiot! Who else would I be talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Newt says with a shrug. “Could have been anyone.”

“Well you’ve not been avoiding just anyone all evening have you? You didn’t kiss just anyone. And yell at me if I’m wrong but I think those two things are connected here.”

“So what if they are?”

“So you need to  _ talk to him.  _ He really likes you, Newt. You can’t just throw away what you guys have got,” says Teresa. 

For a moment, Newt just stares at her. He tries and fails to understand the words  _ ‘he really likes you’ _ because, let’s face it, that could mean a lot of things and he isn’t willing to delve further into it right now. But hearing Teresa, Thomas' best friend, say all this to him is like a sudden reality kick; she’s right in saying he can’t throw away their friendship, even though it’s so new and so close to teetering off the edge of platonic.

He can’t lose Thomas.

“Where is he?” Newt finds himself asking. “I’ll talk to him.”

Teresa’s face breaks into a smile. “He’s in his room. Follow the stairs up to the bedroom at the top of the house. That one’s his.”

Newt doesn’t need telling twice. 

With a mutter of thanks and a final yell of happy birthday, he begins to climb the old wooden staircase which creaks with every other step, trying to be as quiet as he can as he passes some bedrooms in case people are sleeping. He’s not sure what time it is, but it must be at least almost midnight. Hopefully Thomas is still awake.

The bedroom door at the very top of the staircase is closed, and Newt takes a second to catch his breath before connecting his knuckles with the hard wood, in three slightly hesitant raps. An unintelligible mutter comes from somewhere within, and Newt braces himself before the door swings open and reveals Thomas standing there, obviously dressed for bed in joggers and a large  _ Arctic Monkeys _ t-shirt. Even though his hair's a mess and his eyes look tired, Newt doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“Newt?” Thomas asks, confused, as he runs a hand across his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine, Tommy. I, uh. I wanted to talk to you before I left but if you were sleeping then I can just—”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Thomas says with a small shake of his head and a smile that’s almost enough to convince Newt that they’re going to be okay. Almost. “Do you want to come in? Sorry it’s a bit of a mess in here.”

Newt’s seen worse. (Namely, Minho’s room.) 

It’s obvious that Thomas has just transported everything from his bed on top of his desk which is overflowing with papers and wires and textbooks. There’s also a pile of clothes on the floor near the desk, and a fair few empty glasses lying around, but it’s not messy. It’s probably pretty average for college students like themselves.

Thomas closes the door behind him and it hits him at full force that he’s in  _ Thomas' room, alone with Thomas.  _ A single lamp basks the room in a golden glow, and the whole place smells like him. Cinnamony in a way that leaves him longing for more. 

_ God, he’s such a goner for this boy. _

“Um, do you want to sit down?” Thomas asks, gesturing to his queen sized bed in the middle of the room. “I can always clear the stuff off the chair if you want, we don’t have to sit on—”

“Tommy, it’s fine,” Newt says with a smile, trying not to think about how cute Thomas is when he’s rambling.

Thomas lets out a nervous huff of breath and returns to where he’d obviously been sitting on his bed, the pillows slightly squashed. “So I know you said you wanted to talk but there’s something I need to say first, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead,” says Newt, coming to perch on the edge of the bed. 

“I didn’t mean to make anything awkward between us when I agreed to go along with that bet. But it  _ has _ and I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that’s honestly the last thing I wanted to do.”

Newt shakes his head. “You didn't make me uncomfortable, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure.”

“Okay good,” Thomas says with a sigh. “What did you want to talk to me about anyway?”

Instead of looking at Thomas, Newt has to avert his gaze down to his hands which he’s nervously playing with, unsure of how to phrase what he’s trying to say. “I just wanted to make sure we’re okay. And to apologise for making things weird between us.”

“You don’t have to apologise for anything. Everything’s fine. We’re fine, right?”

“Yeah we’re okay.”

“Okay then,” says Thomas, and Newt can’t believe how ridiculously easily that conversation went. They really are just two idiots lacking the proper communication skills. “So can I get a hug?” 

Newt grins and practically throws himself into Thomas' outstretched arms.

The mixture of relief and pure happiness is overwhelming and all he can do is grip onto Thomas even tighter as they embrace. It’s obvious how much they both need this; how much they both need the comfort of this hug and to have the other so close. It speaks volumes without either of them having to say anything, and is so full of emotion that all Newt can do is close his eyes and bask in Thomas' warmth. 

Somehow, this hug feels better than their kiss. At least this is real; this is actually true to  _ them.  _ And it’s something that doesn’t have the potential of ruining their friendship. Even so, Newt is vaguely aware of how Thomas never said he was sorry about the kiss itself, only for if it made him uncomfortable. Newt’s glad he didn’t—he isn’t sorry either. But he’s grateful to have Thomas in his embrace right now, and have that be enough.

“Will you stay a bit longer?” Thomas murmurs into the fabric of his jumper.

“Mhm. If you want me to.”

It’s only then that Thomas pulls away, allowing their eyes to meet as he reaches up to brush one of Newt’s curls into place. “Of course I want you to stay.”

They end up lying on their backs on Thomas' bed just talking about everything and nothing; about their families and their classes and their childhood memories. It’s warming, like how a star might form from the core and outwards, and Newt allows all his inhibitions to fade away into nothing. It’s crazy how quickly Thomas can deconstruct his carefully built walls.

Their fingers brush occasionally, and if that single motion alone causes a surge of heat to travel along Newt’s nerves, then that’s no one’s business but his own. After a while, they simply allow their hands to rest side by side with their fingers pressed together. 

And, somehow, that’s enough.

It’s only when Newt begins to feel his eyelids drooping closed that he sits up, reaching for his phone to check the time.  _ One thirty two a.m.  _ Along with a ton of missed messages from Aris asking when he’s coming back to their dorm. He hadn’t realised the time.

“What time’s it?” mumbles Thomas, yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

“Half one,” says Newt. “I should go, Tommy.”

“Just stay.”

Newt’s head snaps around to look at Thomas who is mid way through taking a sip from one of his many glasses of water. “What?”

“Stay here with me,” Thomas shrugs. “I’ll lend you some clothes and a toothbrush.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Now, Newt might have been a little more reluctant if either of them have classes in the morning, and the only reason he agrees is because he knows neither of them do. Well, that’s not the only reason, of course.

“Okay, thank you,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

The next few minutes are a bit of a hazy blur. Thomas dives into a set of drawers to find Newt some clothes that might fit him, eventually settling on a soft grey t-shirt and some navy blue joggers after much deliberation. It only hits Newt, then, that he’s actually going to be sleeping in  _ Thomas' clothes  _ in  _ Thomas' bed  _ with  _ Thomas himself.  _

He’s not quite sure what to do with that information.

“I’ll just, uh” Thomas stammers as he hands Newt the clothes. “I’ll let you, um. I’ll let you get changed. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.”

Before Newt can get in a word of thanks, Thomas is fleeing from the room and closing the door behind him, leaving Newt staring at the place he’d just been standing. So he’s alone in Thomas' room. No, he’s not going to be a creep and look at his things. No, he’s not going to peer at the photos on the wall.  _ Who do you think he is?  _

Okay, maybe he does look at one of the photos of Thomas and Teresa that must have been taken a few years ago, of the pair of them standing in front of the sign for Disneyland, both grinning ear to ear. He hopes maybe one day Thomas will tell him the story behind each of these photos. But until then, he averts his gaze and tugs off his jumper, replacing his clothes with the ones Thomas has given him. 

They smell faintly like him. Newt tries not to be weird about it.

He’s guessing that Thomas had run off to the bathroom because he returns shortly with a quick knock on the door, eventually peering in once Newt assures him he’s decent. “I found you a new toothbrush,” says Thomas. “It’s by the sink, still in the packaging and everything.”

“Thanks, Tommy” Newt says with a small smile. 

As he steps around Thomas to make his way into the hallway towards the bathroom, he swears he catches him giving him a once-over with eyes slightly wider than usual. Or maybe he’s just going delirious with exhaustion. 

It’s been a day.

A single mug stands beside the marble sink of the bathroom, with a blue toothbrush and tube of paste placed inside it, presumably Thomas'. Beside it, as promised, lies an unopened toothbrush which he isn’t entirely sure what to do with once he’s finished. He ends up putting it in Thomas' toothbrush mug. Maybe that’s weird. He’s too tired to care.

After removing his glasses and splashing some cold water on his face, Newt calls that good enough and pads softly back through the dark hallway, illuminated solely by Thomas' bedroom lamp. The entire house is silent; everyone else must have already gone to sleep.

The door creaks ever so slightly when he slips back into Thomas' room, and he closes it behind him with a small click. When he turns back around, Thomas is smiling at him from where he's perched on the edge of his bed, clearly waiting for Newt to finish in the bathroom. There’s something so strangely intimate about seeing him waiting, and Newt’s unsure how he keeps the blush from his cheeks.

“I wasn’t sure what side of the bed you’d prefer,” says Thomas. “I usually sleep on the right but if it makes you more comfortable then I don’t mind sleeping on the other side.”

“I’m fine with the left. Thanks for considering that, though. That’s very thoughtful of you,” Newt says as he makes his way around to the other side of the bed and places his glasses down beside an apparently fresh glass of water.

“Well I’ve got to treat my guest well, haven’t I?”

“You’re such a gentleman.”

Maybe it should have been awkward, the two of them sliding under the covers together, but it must be the exhaustion that prevents it from being as such. Even though they leave a respectable space between them, Newt can still feel the heat radiating from Thomas' body and he has to physically remind himself that he’s not allowed to curl into it, as much as he’s desperate to. He lies facing Thomas, and watches as he reaches to turn out the lamp, quickly plunging the room into darkness.

Newt can still see the rough outline of Thomas' features, though he’s never needed light to picture what he looks like. For a moment, they just look at each other. It’s as if the darkness conceals what would otherwise be painful truths, and allows them to see past the walls and directly at one another. 

It’s another non-platonic moment that Newt can’t bring himself to pull away from. He finds himself longing, once again, to know what Thomas could possibly be thinking right now.

Eventually, Thomas lets out the smallest sigh and buries the side of his face into his pillow with his eyes slowly dipping closed. “Goodnight Newt,” he murmurs, somewhere in the realm of unconsciousness. 

Newt can feel the soft tendrils of sleep beginning to tug him under, too, and he makes no move to fight it. “Goodnight Tommy.”


	9. i'm wondering if this is real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How so?” he asks eventually. “Can’t take your eyes off me or something?”
> 
> “Yeah that’s it,” Thomas says, throwing a lighthearted grin over his shoulder, one which is enough to remind Newt that this is just them joking around; nothing serious. “You’re… radiant.”
> 
> “You think?” 
> 
> “Yeah I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: kiss the boy - keiynan lonsdale 
> 
> tw: mention of a past emotionally abusive relationship

As Newt slowly begins to regain consciousness into the waking world, he realises—albeit fairly slowly—that he’s curled up against something warm and sturdy. At first, he doesn’t consider what this warm object is or why the pillows feel different to usual. He’s so comfortable, here in this cocoon of warmth, that it doesn’t even pass his barely conscious mind.

It’s the sunlight that slowly begins to grasp his attention (it never usually falls over his bed because the window faces west) and everything begins to fall into place in his head. This room isn’t his because it’s Thomas'. This bed isn’t his because it’s also Thomas'. These pillows aren’t his because they, too, are Thomas'. Which means.

Huh. The warmth he’s curled up against must be Thomas. The hand that’s playing with his hair so gently that it might just send him back off to sleep—Thomas'.

With this newfound information, it’s as if all his senses suddenly become heightened, and a few things hit him at once. Firstly, cinnamon. Need he elaborate? Secondly, the fact that their legs are tangled together, in a way that’s a lot more comfortable than he’d ever expected. 

Also: Thomas' breathing. It’s not as steady as it would be if he were asleep (which he’s clearly not, going by the hand in Newt’s hair) and Newt knows because he can physically feel every rise and fall of his chest from where his arm is resting against him. 

It’s cuddling. Technically. 

He makes no move to pull away—especially when the hand in his hair scratches against his scalp and he makes a hum of approval as he practically melts into him. It’s incredibly non platonic, which appears to be a recurring theme between them, but Newt doesn’t see Thomas complaining, so he isn’t about to, either.

“You awake?” Thomas whispers, quiet enough that he wouldn’t wake Newt if he had still been asleep, but loud enough that his question actually computes.

“No,” he replies, voice still groggy with sleep.

“Okay.”

So he just lies there, pressed up against Thomas, as the hand continues to scratch his hair. He’s not sure he’s ever had a better wake up call than this. 

It’s the second time they’ve fallen asleep together and woken up cuddling (if you count the time they fall asleep down in the living room watching TV) and it was as if they gravitated towards each other entirely subconsciously, like two poles of a magnet. Maybe Newt will consider that when he’s a little more awake, but for now he simply allows his thoughts to switch off and enjoy the sensations through his hair.

It’s absolute bliss.

Eventually, Thomas shifts position slightly and removes his hand from Newt’s hair, earning himself a small whine of distaste which Newt will find the time to be embarrassed about later.

“Sorry,” Thomas murmurs with a small laugh, returning his hand. “Better now?”

“Mhm. Much better.”

Only a few minutes go by of them just lying there together, legs still tangled up under the covers, but a knock on Thomas' bedroom door is quick to shatter the silence. “Tom, are you awake?” comes Teresa’s voice, and then she’s opening the door with a small click.

Newt opens one eye but doesn’t have the chance to even consider moving away from Thomas before Teresa pokes her head in and her eyes widen as her gaze falls on the two boys. “Oh,” she says softly, the look of surprise evident on her face.

“Hey, Resa,” Thomas mumbles. “What do you need?”

Teresa shakes her head. “Nothing, I was just. I was going to say goodbye. We’re heading off to class now but I think Gally’s still in his room.”

“Class? What time is it?” asks Thomas.

“Eight forty five. Ish. I gotta go, I’ll see you later,” she pauses midway through closing the door. “Bye Newt.”

“Bye Teresa, have a good class.”

She winks at them on her way out. Newt pretends he doesn’t notice. Thomas just groans, and all Newt can do is laugh at him. Even though they’ve now been successfully peeled out of their sleepy states, the close proximity doesn’t feel awkward like he might have expected it to, considering how they ended up in this position in the first place. 

“We should probably get up,” whispers Thomas, though his tone suggests he’d prefer otherwise. “Do you want to use the shower first?”

“You go first, Tommy. Thank you, though.”

Thomas hums but makes no move to get up out of bed. His reluctance is something so physical, and Newt’s heart does a little happy dance when he realises how obvious it is that Thomas is enjoying this just as much as he is. 

What even is platonic at this point?

“Okay,” Thomas groans, stretching his arms up above his head with a yawn. “I’m going. Don’t go back to sleep. Or do. That’s up to you.”

Newt has to physically restrain himself from gripping onto Thomas as he rolls out of the bed, allowing an influx of cold air to rush under the covers. A shiver consumes his body and he instinctively pulls the duvet closer around himself, curling into the warm spot that Thomas left behind. Now that he’s fully conscious, he’s painfully aware of how much this whole bed smells like Thomas. It only makes him long for the contact that was just ripped away from him.

It’s a lot to take in for a morning.

\--

Newt’s only just bracing himself for the inevitable chill that’ll hit him as soon as he peels the duvet from his body when Thomas comes back into the room, his hair damp from the shower he clearly just stepped out of. But the wet hair isn’t the only thing that grasps Newt’s attention. 

No. Ha. 

It’s like the universe is determined to make this morning as bizarre as possible, because Thomas isn’t wearing a shirt. He’s wearing jeans, sure, but Newt has to physically stop himself from staring or from following stray water droplets as they run down his neck and—

No. He’s not looking. He’s definitely not looking.

“There are fresh towels for you on top of the pile,” says Thomas as he begins to rummage around in one of his drawers, back muscles flexing. “I’ll find you some fresh clothes as well, so you don’t have to wear yesterday’s.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Newt croaks out.

“It’s fine, really. Here, these should fit.”

Thomas places down a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed with a small smile that doesn’t send Newt’s emotions skyrocketing, and doesn’t make him want to voice every single one of his thoughts out loud. Part of him can’t help but wonder what would happen if he did.

“Thank you,” he says instead, quickly scooping up the clothes while purposefully averting his gaze from Thomas' half naked form. He can’t be certain about what he might do if he were to look any longer.

The shower in the bathroom is a lot larger than expected, and Newt ends up using some of Thomas' shampoo and shower gel because he has literally nothing of his own with him, except for the toothbrush Thomas had given him last night. The shower gel is golden and scented with cinnamon which makes so much sense, consider the hint of spice he’s so regularly consumed with. But it feels so overwhelmingly intimate that he has to take a moment to breathe before switching off the water and stepping out of the shower. 

How come everything in the past few hours can only be described as intimate? Does that sum up his relationship with Thomas? Newt’s not complaining if it does.

He leaves the bathroom attempting to fluff up his curls, dressed in Thomas' clothes with a slightly too large grey hoodie over the top. The bedroom is empty when he checks for Thomas, though the faint singing emanating from downstairs is enough of a suggestion as to where he may be. Newt’s pretty certain it’s not Gally he can hear singing, so heads downstairs with a fair amount of hope in his heart.

There’s a slight stiffness to his bad leg which happens most mornings due to the inactivity of sleeping, and he finds himself limping slightly as he makes his way through the hallway and into the kitchen which is apparently the source of the singing. It’s definitely not Gally, he knows that much for certain.

“Oh hey,” Thomas says as Newt pushes open the kitchen door. “Was the shower okay?”

“Yes, thanks. What are you making?” he asks out of pure curiosity because Thomas appears to be doing some kind of dance around the kitchen as he reaches into different cupboards for various ingredients, throwing them together in a large bowl by the stove. He’d never taken Thomas to be a cook, and is slightly surprised at the sight before his eyes.

“I thought I’d make us some pancakes,” Thomas says as an explanation. “You can come sit down if you want.”

Newt follows Thomas' vague gesture towards the breakfast bar as he sits up on one of the stools, folding his hands on top of the counter. “So what’s the occasion?” he asks. “Surely you don’t just make pancakes for fun. I never saw you as that type of guy.”

“Hey are you saying I don’t look like I could be a chef? That’s incredibly rude, Newton,” says Thomas, feigning shock as he brings a hand to his heart.

Newt laughs. “No I just mean… Well. Yeah? That might be what I’m saying.”

“I can’t believe this. I let you sleep in my bed, let you borrow my clothes—which, I have to say that hoodie looks super cute on you, by the way—and now I’m making you pancakes but all I get are insults,” Thomas says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

It takes all of Newt’s willpower not to overthink the hoodie comment. 

“Well budge over and I’ll make them myself!” he jokes.

“No way, this is actually my area of expertise. So you just sit there and rest your leg,” says Thomas, glancing once at Newt’s expression of shock over hearing that he actually noticed the slight limp. “Oh don’t give me that look.”

Newt lets out a small huff of disbelief. “What look?”

“That one right there,” Thomas says with a gesture to Newt’s face. “I notice things, okay? Is it sore from laser tag? Did you strain it?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s often stiff in the mornings, though.”

Thomas nods as he pours pancake batter into a frying pan on low heat. “I noticed it before, your limp. Did you break it or something?”

 _Uh oh. This is dangerous territory._ Newt had been hoping to avoid this conversation for as long as possible, because he can never tell people the truth but he hates lying to the people he cares about. There’s so much mental conflict that he often shuts down under the pressure and intense scrutiny of someone’s gaze. It feels different with Thomas, though. It’s casual and lacking any sense of urgency. He’s leaving it up for Newt to decide what he tells him, and Newt is so incredibly grateful for that.

“Yeah I did. I broke it in three different places. It’s never really recovered, obviously. The doctors say I’ll most likely have this limp for the rest of my life,” he explains.

“Must have been a nasty break, huh?”

“It was. I couldn’t walk on it for months without every step being painful. But it’s better now, mostly. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“I’m glad,” Thomas says with a smile, though his eyes are still slightly inquisitive.

They don’t remain full of curiosity for long, however, because they’re quick to widen before Thomas spins back around to face the pancakes he’d turned his back on to talk to Newt, muttering a string of curses and self depreciating insults. The pancake is transported out of the pan and onto a plate, and Newt peers over to find it in relatively good form despite a near burning incident. He can’t help but laugh at Thomas' look of relief.

“I thought you said this is your area of expertise?” he teases.

Thomas shoots him a glare, though a smile gives everything away. “It is, thank you very much. I’m just not used to being distracted.”

“I’m hardly a distraction.”

“Yes you are,” Thomas murmurs as he turns back to the stove. 

“I can’t work out if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It is, it definitely is.”

For a moment, Newt isn’t sure how to respond. Thomas sounds so sincere, yet Newt’s having a hard time truly believing that what he’s saying is true. Of course, he could just be being kind. It could just be another one of those things that’s all inside his head. 

“How so?” he asks eventually. “Can’t take your eyes off me or something?”

“Yeah that’s it,” Thomas says, throwing a lighthearted grin over his shoulder, one which is enough to remind Newt that this is just them joking around; nothing serious. “You’re… radiant.”

“You think?” 

“Yeah I do.”

“Well as long as you don’t start comparing me to the sun, then I’ll take that. That’s very sweet of you, Tommy. Thank you.”

“I’ll use some sun metaphors another time,” Thomas says with a shrug. “Talking of metaphors, how did you do on your project for your creative writing class?”

To say that Newt is grateful for the change of subject would be an understatement. He’s not sure he can cope with any more meaningless flirting, especially after the morning he’s had so far. So instead, he settles on grinning like an idiot because writing is something familiar and something he could talk about for hours if anyone let him, and he actually has some _good_ news to share with Thomas about this.

“So I got the result yesterday,” he says, pausing for effect. 

“Yeah? And?” Thomas asks impatiently, focus fixed solely on Newt once more. If he’s not careful, he’ll start burning the pancakes.

“And I got an A.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way.”

Thomas whoops and actually jumps into the air before rounding the kitchen and pulling Newt into a tight embrace. “I knew you could do it,” he murmurs. “Your story was incredible. You deserve that so much.”

“Thank you,” says Newt. “I don’t think I would have been able to do it without your coffee and surprisingly good editing skills, though.”

“Don’t be silly,” Thomas says as he miraculously seems to tighten his hold. At this rate, the pancakes are definitely going to be burning. Newt can practically smell it.

Actually, he _can_ smell it.

“Tommy,” he whispers, earning himself nothing but a noncommittal hum. “ _Thomas._ The pancakes!”

“ _Oh shit!”_

He watches on in helpless laughter as Thomas scrambles to remove the burnt pancake from the pan and tosses it unceremoniously into the bin with a fair few mumbles of distress and distaste for his abilities.

When he’s done, he brushes off his hands with a sigh and jabs a finger in Newt’s direction. “This is your fault!” he whines. “You’re giving me a bad reputation here, Newt!”

“Hey, hey. You’re the one who can’t keep your eyes off me. Or hands, I should say,” Newt teases, marvelling at how quickly the blood rises to Thomas' cheeks.

Thomas lets out a huff of breath and pouts at him. “No need to rub it in.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Do you want a hand finishing those?”

“No, I’ve got it. Just don’t… don’t distract me, okay? You make me make a fool of myself.”

This time, it’s Newt’s turn to blush. His cheeks flush a shade you might compare to crimson, and he has to duck his head down so Thomas doesn’t notice. He can’t let him know what those comments make him feel. He can’t let the walls down.

“Stop flirting with me, Thomas,” he manages to choke out eventually.

Thomas only smiles. “You love it really, babe.”

And he does. He really does.

\--

Once the pancakes have been successfully made and stacked into two neat piles, Thomas brings over the places, sliding his hand across the small of Newt’s back in passing which is enough to temporarily close his airway. But the pancakes look good. Considering what it took to get here, they look really good. Even Thomas looks fairly pleased with his efforts, despite the one burned pancake in the bin, and his small smile is enough to make Newt’s heart swell.

“These look really good,” he says as Thomas takes a seat beside him. “Thanks for making them, Tommy.”

“You’re just lucky you got anything on that plate at all. I swear I’m not usually that bad at cooking,” Thomas says with a frown.

Newt nudges their shoulders together. “It’s fine, I believe you.”

They stay like that as they eat, with their arms resting together, until Thomas gets up to make them a cup of tea, stating that it doesn’t seem right not to offer at least one cup of tea while Newt’s in his house. Apparently they’re going off British stereotypes, but Newt has to admit that tea has always been his preferred beverage. Coffee keeps his eyes open, but tea calms his insides. He practically inhaled the stuff after his incident, and Sonya actually ordered him a huge box full of tea bags as a recovery present. He’s pretty sure they still have a few of those tea bags left at home.

They were chamomile, a taste he’d first despised but had quickly grown to love despite the subtle hint of hay in every sip. This is what Thomas makes them now, and Newt has to admit that he’s slightly surprised he has this blend of tea in the first place.

“I didn’t know you drunk chamomile,” he says, voicing his thoughts aloud.

“I usually don’t but Teresa bought me some when I was ill a few weeks ago and I’ve been finishing it up since then,” Thomas says as he slides a mug across the counter towards Newt. “These are the last two bags, I believe.”

“I’m honoured you consider me worthy of your chamomile tea.”

Thomas winks at him. “Of course you are. The most worthy.”

“I’m flattered.”

They fall into a comfortable rhythm of lighthearted chatter, the sound of the wind thrashing against the windows and the gentle patter of rain the only accompanying sounds. Eventually, they move into the living room which still has its curtains drawn, coating the room in a soft red glow. Thomas grabs a blanket from the wicker basket near the TV and drapes it over their knees, like he never even considered reaching for a separate one. 

It’s only when Newt drains the last of his tea and leans over to place his mug on the coffee table that they’re interrupted, the door creaking open to reveal Gally dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. “Uh, hey,” he says, voice slightly rough as if he hasn’t spoken a word to anyone this morning.

“Morning Gally,” says Thomas. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I want to—” he trails off when Newt sits back against the sofa, tugging his knees up to his chest and leaning against Thomas' shoulder. “Wait are you two together yet?” 

Newt almost chokes on air. “What? Why do you think that?”

“Just asking,” Gally says with a shrug. “I guess that’s a no?”

“No, we’re not together.”

Despite it being true, Newt can’t help but feel a heaviness as the words pass his lips. He physically feels Thomas shift beside him, moving closer rather than farther away, though he can’t pinpoint the exact moment that either of them began to instinctively gravitate towards the other. Not that he’s complaining.

“What did you want?” Thomas asks with a sigh, his forehead creased into a frown.

“So I talked to Brenda yesterday,” says Gally, and Thomas noticeably tenses. “We have to do a class project together so she’s going to be coming round here the next few days. That okay with you?”

A muscle clenches in Thomas' jaw. “Why can’t you go to hers?”

“Her roommate doesn’t like me.”

“Well _I_ don’t like _her._ What’s wrong with the library?”

“Nothing, it’s just easier to work here,” Gally says, slightly exasperated at this point, and Newt has to swallow back a cold remark about him not actually paying attention to how uncomfortable he’s clearly making Thomas.

There’s a moment of silence where the tension could be sliced with a knife, and Newt rests a hand on Thomas' leg almost instinctively, a silent gesture of reassurance. He still doesn’t know anything about Brenda or why Thomas dislikes her so much, but he can tell without asking that their history can’t be anything good.

“Fine,” Thomas says after a painful few seconds. “Do whatever. I don’t care.”

He looks like he cares a lot. Newt keeps his mouth shut.

But Gally simply nods, beginning to back out of the doorway. “Okay,” he says. “Cool.”

For a moment, Newt’s sure he’s going to at least say thank you. Usually the human race pulls through with at least some common decency, but apparently Gally is one of the exceptions. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he’d thought these two were at least something like friends. The look on Thomas' face suggests otherwise.

“Are you okay?” Newt asks once he’s sure Gally’s out of earshot.

“Yeah fine,” sighs Thomas, running a hand through his hair and across his face. “Sorry, I just. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. This is the same Brenda from the party, right? I’m not usually so judgemental of people but she seemed like a nasty piece of work.”

“She is,” says Thomas, placing a hand on top of Newt’s which is still resting on his leg. “We, uh. We dated. It was back in high school, in our senior year. Yeah, that didn’t go so well.”

Newt flips his palm over and slides his fingers between Thomas', not caring in that moment what it might mean, and focused purely on providing some sort of comfort. It physically pains him to see Thomas look so dishevelled and so vulnerable. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Thomas squeezes his hand. “I do want to. I said I’d tell you eventually, didn’t I?”

“You did, but that doesn’t mean to have to—”

“It’s okay, I’m mostly over it now. But basically,” Thomas takes a breath. “When we were… _together,_ she was seeing other people behind my back and lying about it until I found out the truth and she couldn’t lie anymore. So she blamed it on me. Said that it was my fault for not loving her enough; not giving her what she wanted and what these other people clearly were. We’d fight, I’d apologise, and the cycle would repeat. 

“It went on for almost a year, and I was wrecked by the end. Couldn’t trust anyone, could hardly do anything without worrying how she was going to react. It was Teresa who got me out of it in the end. She told me I needed to end things with Brenda, showed me how it wasn’t healthy to live like that.” He stops for breath, eyes focusing anywhere but Newt’s, though he has nothing to be embarrassed or shy about. “I broke up with her, and it was a mess but I’ve never been so relieved in my life.”

Subconsciously, Newt’s grip on Thomas' hand tightens. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers.

“Thanks, Newt.”

\--

Huddling under a single polka-dot patterned umbrella as they walk back to Newt’s block of dorms isn’t the most convenient escapade, but they’re glad to be dry despite the pouring rain. The only reason Newt allowed Thomas to walk him back was because he has an assignment to finish before later, and because Thomas is headed down to the coffee shop for his shift, anyway. It’s a bit of a song and dance, having to avoid puddles and people as they’re shivering and stumbling into each other with excessive amounts of laughter for such a rainy day. 

There’s a fresh smell to the air, hinting that it might snow soon if the temperature falls low enough, which Newt is half hoping will not happen because we all know he’s never prepared enough for the cold. Apparently Thomas loves the snow, though, and who is he to wish against anything that might bring a smile to that boy’s face? 

Eventually, they reach Newt’s dorm and turn to face each other, having to stand close to fit under the umbrella. “Thanks for letting me stay,” says Newt. “And for lending me your clothes. I’ll wash them and get them back to you when I next see you.”

“There’s no rush, I have plenty of clothes.”

“Okay.”

For a few seconds, they just look at each other. Newt wishes he has the words to say something more—something meaningful or flirty or witty that could match the mood of their morning so far—but nothing comes out of his mouth when he’s staring into those damn bambi eyes. He smiles, and Thomas does the same.

“Hey,” Thomas says with a laugh. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? Text me.”

Newt pulls him into a hug, scared that they would part and he wouldn’t get to hold Thomas close until they next see each other, and Thomas struggles to steady the umbrella with one hand when he wraps an arm around Newt. It’s a little clumsy, but it’s warm and it speaks the words he can’t say out loud, so Newt’s not complaining about a thing.

“Of course I’ll text you,” he mumbles into the crook of Thomas' neck.

When Thomas pulls away, he tilts his head up ever so slightly and places the smallest of kisses on Newt’s cheek. For that brief second of contact, everything stills around them.

It’s so fleeting that Newt hardly has a chance to fully comprehend what’s happening, and then, just as quickly as it happened, Thomas is pulling away. He’s pulling away and it takes everything Newt’s got not to chase the contact.

They eventually part ways with an exchange of shy smiles, Newt’s skin tingling with the ghost of Thomas’ lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, this was the chapter i was writing when i joined tmr twitter back in october. that just shows how long i've been working on this fic for :)  
> also, updates will be a little slower from now on. i'm still writing some of the later chapters and i'm worried that i'm going to eventually run out of pre-written ones to post. thanks for bearing with me <3


	10. shining just for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You may be hot but you’re not a mess. Besides, you’re far more important than bloody college essays, and if you ever tell me otherwise then I will actually hit you,” Newt says, and is grateful when his words are met with a smile. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
> 
> “Other than you calling me hot?” Thomas asks with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: mirrorball - taylor swift

Over the next few excruciatingly long days, Newt is confined to his desk by a multitude of assignments he’s fallen behind with, along with the lovely surprise of a psychology test on which he knows nothing about. 

Maybe it’s his own fault for falling behind with his studying to spend time with Thomas. He _knows_ this is college and he _knows_ he has to work hard, but he also knows that he’s fallen hard for a certain boy who plays with his hair and kisses his cheek, and he regrets absolutely nothing.

“Ugh,” he groans as his head makes contact with the cool, hard wood of his desk. “Tell me why I chose to study this bloody subject.”

“Because, and I remember you saying this. ‘ _I think the human mind is interesting and people should know more about what happens inside their own head’_ ” Aris says from across the room, quoting Newt’s words back at him in a surprisingly accurate British accent.

This only triggers another groan from Newt’s direction. He can, in fact, remember saying those exact words once upon a time. How things change. “Hey, Aris. Can you do me a favour?” he asks. “Can you give me Alby’s number?”

“Alby? Yeah, why?” asks Aris, spinning around on his chair to face Newt on the other side of the room.

“I’m pretty sure he does psychology, I need help with this. Did you message him when I told you he wanted to meet us last week?”

“I did but then you had stuff going on so I never mentioned it,” Aris says with a shrug. “Give me your phone and I’ll add his number in.”

Newt chucks his phone across the room (which probably isn’t his wisest move because it’s Aris he’s throwing it to and he’s known to be the clumsiest person to walk this Earth) and continues to scribble notes in the corner of a page when he doesn’t hear it crash to the floor. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, were the unopened messages on his screen from Thomas, which he’s been saving up to reply to when he finally finishes this topic. _If_ he finishes this topic. At least he knows how to partially motivate himself.

They’ve been texting back and forth over the past few days, when Newt’s had the time, but seeing each other has proven impossible. Newt misses him, a lot more than he probably should. He misses his hugs and his warmth and their casual flirting and their banter and the cheek kiss. Especially the cheek kiss. He’s struggled to get that out of his mind for days.

“Newt, Thomas sent these messages over an hour ago. Aren’t you going to reply to him?” Aris asks, frowning deeply at the series of messages on his lockscreen.

“I’ll do it later, I need to study _._ ”

“No, what you _need_ ,” Aris says as he walks across the room and closes the textbook Newt has opened in front of him with a lot more vigour than is necessary. “Is to take a break. Do you really need me to start singing Hamilton at you?”

“Oh please no, I had nightmares about your Eliza once,” says Newt, trying and failing to snatch his book back out of Aris' grasp. “And no, you’re wrong actually. I’m going to fail this test if I don’t study.”

Aris smacks his shoulder, playfully but enough to provoke a reaction. “Newt, you’ve been studying since five a.m! That’s four hours already and it’s only nine! Take. A. Break.”

All Newt can do is stare at him. The look on Aris' face proves that what’s coming next is inevitable. Newt braces for impact.

“Please no, Aris. Don’t you dare.”

But it’s too late—he’s too late. Aris is singing, and there’s nothing Newt can do to stop him, now. He’d sing through anything if it means he reaches the end of the song, or at least to a place he’s happy stopping at. Otherwise, there’s no stopping him. Newt would know; he’s tried countless times.

He groans, finally stepping away from his desk and retreating for shelter in the bathroom, but the singing continues behind the locked door, and Newt can imagine Aris pressing his face up against it to continue singing at him.

Newt tunes out, instead delving into the realms of his thoughts. It’s safe in here. Quiet. A place where nothing can disturb him and everything is under his control. It’s a place he used to visit often after his therapist suggested meditation, and has used as a coping technique (or just an escape, really) over the years. All the stress and anxiety drains from his mind when he’s here, and he finds that he can think a little easier, which is a welcome sensation among the endless bombardment of thoughts.

A few beats of silence pass before Newt returns to reality, lifting his head from where he's been resting it in his hands as he sits on the edge of the bathroom sink. The singing seems to have stopped, but he waits a couple of seconds extra to be sure. Aris has been known to break into song at the exact moment you get your hopes up that he’s finished, and Newt isn’t taking any chances. 

“Are you done?” Newt calls when the waiting period is over.

“That depends if _you_ are. Because if not, I can sing it again.”

“Don’t you bloody dare,” he says, finally unlocking the door to reveal Aris holding Newt’s phone in one hand. “Did you put in Alby’s number?”

Aris crosses his arms and looks at Newt in defiance. “I did. And my singing is excellent, I'll have you know.”

“Yeah it’s great, really enjoyed it,” Newt murmurs as he types out a message to Alby. 

“Your sarcasm hurts my feelings.”

“Well your excessive Hamilton renditions hurt mine so I guess we’re even.”

“Rude. So rude.”

As it turns out, Aris' painful distraction actually seemed to work, and Newt spends a couple of minutes on his phone sending a brief reply to Thomas and awaiting a text from Alby’s. Thankfully, his phone screen is quick to light up and Newt is reaching for his bag and textbooks before he’s even finished reading the message.

**Alby:** [9:21]

Yeah sure, meet you in the Homestead in a few mins?

**Newt:** [9:21]

I’ll be there.

\--

For once in his life, Newt is wearing enough clothes to brace the cold air outside. With the hotdog scarf thrown around his neck and a proper _coat_ over the hoodie he’s failed to return to Thomas, Newt walks quickly towards the Homestead with a newfound determination in his step. Part of that determination comes from the possibility of finally being able to understand the psychology content, but most of it comes from the potential of seeing Thomas. He’s almost certain that he should be on shift right now. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

It’s beginning to snow ever so lightly as Newt steps into the warmth of the coffee shop, taking a huge sigh of relief as warmth floods through his muscles and feeling slowly begins to return to his fingers. Of course he forgot his gloves, that’s so like him.

When he looks to the counter, his heart does an embarrassing little skip of joy because _Thomas_ is there, in all his barista glory, hitting Teresa over the head with laughter echoing from his lips, the sweetest sound Newt has ever heard. His hair is an organised mess and he’s wearing _glasses_ which Newt didn’t know he wore, but is incredibly grateful to experience seeing. 

What he also notices, however, is how Thomas' expression visibly falters the moment he turns away from Teresa, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stares blankly at nothing in particular. It takes Newt a few seconds of staring to realise what he’s actually here for, and takes a quick glance around the coffee shop to look for Alby sitting among the tables. He finds him in one of the chairs by the window, with a textbook and copious piles of notes already spread out in front of him. Newt waves just briefly in his direction before turning to the counter and meeting Thomas' eye, trying hard not to hyperventilate about the glasses.

“Hey Newt,” Thomas says, leaning forward against the counter. “Wasn’t sure I’d been seeing you today. You doing okay?”

In all honesty, Newt should be asking Thomas that, if the tired eyes are anything to go by, anyway. “Yeah I’m fine,” he says. “Alby’s helping me study for my psychology test, I didn’t know I was coming until the minute before I left my dorm. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m,” Thomas makes a vague gesture with one hand. “I’m whatever. What can I get for you, anyway?”

His words are slightly bitter, and Newt is taken aback by the pure abruptness. Thomas has never been like this, for the short amount of time Newt’s known him, and it throws it to see him acting so cold. It’s a stark contrast from the warm, bubbly person he’s used to.

Newt orders quickly and frantically tries to think of what he should say to break this uncomfortable tension between them as Thomas makes his coffee. “Sorry I haven’t been able to see you,” he says eventually. “Everything’s just been really crazy with assignments. You know how it gets.”

“Yeah I do,” Thomas says with a small shake of his head. “As long as you’ve been okay? Have you been looking after yourself?”

“Uh, yes. I’m okay, just a little stressed.”

It’s a blatant lie because he’s more than a little stressed out, and Thomas doesn’t look convinced. He doesn’t push it though, and passes Newt his coffee with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good luck studying,” he says.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

He takes his coffee over to Alby’s chosen table and places it among the array of papers, offering a small smile in greeting to his friend (well, Aris' friend) and praying that he can actually manage to get some work done today. This level of stress is almost overwhelming.

It takes him a full three sips of coffee before he rakes a hand through his hair, looks up at Alby and says, “I hope you’re ready for this, because I most certainly am _not._ ”

“I guess we’ll have to see about that,” says Alby. “I’m starting to think that Janson’s lectures are just incredibly dull because I’m pretty sure I fell asleep during this topic.”

“Huh. Tell me about it.”

With struggle, they manage to do it. Newt’s surprised. Alby’s surprised. The whole universe is probably surprised.

He’s come to the conclusion that it most likely _was_ just Janson’s monotonous voice droning on in his head that was preventing the information from computing properly. That man couldn’t be more scarily rat-like if he tried.

Almost two hours pass, and Newt manages to understand more in this time than he has done in his lectures for the past few weeks. It feels like a huge weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders, and he leans back in his chair with a sigh of relief and a glance in what he’d hoped would be the direction of Thomas. What he’s faced with instead is the sight of Teresa typing up her apron behind her back, now completely alone behind the counter. He hadn’t even seen Thomas leave.

He has images of tousled brown hair and glasses swimming behind his eyes as he packs away his things, managing to say a brief thank you and goodbye to Alby between the waves of worry. 

The thing is, when Newt worries about something, his brain shuts down and focuses solely on that one thing for however long it holds his concern. Because this is Thomas we’re talking about, of _course_ Newt’s going to be worried when he disappears without a trace before his shift is due to end, having not looked particularly okay not too long before. It’s been so long since they properly talked; he doesn’t know if there’s something more going on that he doesn’t know about. 

So Newt takes his worry and he finds himself face to face with Teresa who looks at him as if she knows exactly what he’s about to say. She probably does. Girls tend to be mind readers, he’s come to realise.

“Is Thomas okay?” he asks without greeting.

Teresa offers him a small smile and shrugs. “He wasn’t feeling well so I told him to go home and I’d finish the rest of his shift. He’s had a rough few days.”

“Really? What happened?”

“You mean he didn’t tell you?” Teresa asks, and all Newt can do is shake his head with a sinking feeling in his gut. “Huh. Well it’s not really my place to say, but it was college stuff and family stuff all piling on top of each other. He really didn’t tell you this?”

“No,” whispers Newt. “He didn’t.”

Teresa reaches across the counter and places a hand on his arm. “Just talk to him,” she says. “I know it’s becoming a bit of a theme, me telling you guys to talk, but I think it’ll really help if he has you there for him. You mean a lot to him, Newt.”

Before he can respond, a customer approaches the counter and he steps back with a half smile to let the girl order so Teresa can prepare her drink. As she does so, he watches her and thinks back to when he’d been so jealous of what she and Thomas used to be, and how possessive he’d felt over the boy he’d only just met. 

Yet now, Newt realises that there was never any reason to worry about Teresa, because she’s the one he’s turning to for answers about the boy they both care so deeply about. He wishes he could take back everything negative he’s ever thought about her.

When the customer finally leaves with her vanilla latte, he steps back up to the counter. “Do you think I should go over to your place to see if he’s okay?” he asks.

“I think you should. Do you mind texting me to let me know how he is? I’m stuck here for another few hours, so,” she says, already reaching into the back pocket of her jeans to hand over her phone. “Thanks, Newt.”

He types in his number, sending himself a text so he has hers, and leaves it at that. Then, he’s out of the door and typing out a message to Thomas within seconds, with the certainty of his destination fueling his every step. 

**Newt:** [11:31] 

Hey Tommy, are you okay? I’m going to come over if that’s okay with you? 

The message is opened almost immediately, though no response comes through. 

Newt only walks faster. 

\--

Gally is the one to open the front door, looking rather irritated about it, but is already ushering Newt inside before he can even open his mouth to explain why he’s here. It feels weird to be here without Thomas immediately by his side, like he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be, even though he’s been here many times before. Maybe it’s Gally’s looming presence that’s making him nervous.

“Thomas is upstairs,” Gally says as he closes the door behind him. “Good luck.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” asks Newt, slightly accusatory.

“Don’t ask me.”

With a sigh and one final sceptical glance back in Gally’s direction, Newt begins to climb the creaky staircase to the top of the house where Thomas apparently is, unsure what he’s about to be faced with. Gally’s words weren’t exactly the most comforting. 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Thomas because he _does,_ very much so; he just can’t help but worry about what’s got Thomas to the point where _‘Good luck’_ is an appropriate thing to say.

Thomas' bedroom door is closed, and all is silent apart from Gally’s videogame coming from downstairs. 

Tentatively, Newt reaches out and knocks, half expecting to hear the same muttered response he had the night of Teresa’s birthday, but is only faced with silence. 

“Tommy?” he calls. “Are you okay? It’s Newt.” 

Again, more silence. 

Newt sighs. “Thomas, can I come in?” he asks a little more forcefully than before. “I’m coming in, okay?”

He waits a few seconds longer before finally opening the door with a soft click, his eyes quickly falling onto the bed where Thomas lies, face down, clutching a pillow and shaking. Newt’s heart breaks in two.

“Oh Tommy,” he mumbles and he makes his way across the room, perching down on the bed and resting a hand on his shoulder in what he hopes is reassurance.

After another few sobs and shaky breaths, Thomas finally blinks up at him, his eyes red and puffy and so, so sad that it physically pains Newt to see him like this. He’s had his own share of breakdowns in the past, but this hurts more. Seeing Thomas so upset hurts his heart so much more.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas murmurs dejectedly, closing his eyes. “You don’t have to _._ You shouldn’t have to see me like this. I’m being pathetic.”

Newt squeezes his shoulder, “You’re not pathetic. And you don’t have to apologise for a thing, okay?”

“I thought you had stuff to do,” says Thomas, finally pushing himself up so he’s mostly vertical with his hair wild from the pillow. “More important stuff than seeing this hot mess.”

“You may be hot but you’re not a mess. Besides, you’re far more important than bloody college essays, and if you ever tell me otherwise then I will actually hit you,” Newt says, and is grateful when his words are met with a smile. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Other than you calling me hot?” Thomas asks with a smirk. 

Newt doesn’t even care when the blush reaches his cheeks; at least Thomas is half smiling again. “Yes, other than that,” he says with a fond roll of his eyes.

It takes a moment for Thomas to compose himself, taking a deep breath before looking Newt in the eye. “So I found out last night that Chuck isn’t allowed to go home, and I know how much he was looking forward to it and now it’s just…” Thomas sighs and runs a hand across his face. “He just deserves better, you know? And then there’s Brenda and this project she’s doing with Gally and there’s only so much of her I can put up with before I’ll explode and she knows that but she’s been so… upfront with me whenever she’s here.”

Somehow, Thomas' hand finds Newt’s among the blankets and squeezes.

“And it’s not just that,” Thomas sighs. “I failed a bio lab on Friday and it’s been so stressful trying to talk to my professor about it. I don’t remember the last time I slept properly, and right now my head is absolutely killing me.”

It’s as if a huge weight has been lifted from Thomas' shoulders, because his eyes flutter closed and his grip on Newt’s hand loosens but Sometimes, it’s amazing how letting everything out makes it so much less overwhelming. 

But he knows that right now, Thomas just needs comfort. He needs to let everything that’s holding him to uptight and anxious just fall away, and Newt will try his damn hardest to help him with that. So that’s why, after just a few moments of consideration, he leans across the bed and pulls Thomas into a hug.

“Have you had any pills for your head?” he asks. “Or water?”

Thomas shakes his head, his hair gently tickling Newt’s neck. “No, I didn’t want to face Gally when I was down there.”

“Okay I’ll go and get you some,” says Newt, finally pulling away and making his way back towards the door. “Just relax, yeah? Take deep breaths, everything’s going to be fine.”

Thomas smiles at him right before he turns away, and Newt swears he hears the smallest of murmurs as he closes the door softly behind him. _“What would I do without you?”_

It poses a problem when Newt realises he has no idea where any pills are kept in this house, and sighs when he realises that he’s going to have to ask Gally who’s playing the same shooting game in the living room from when Newt was first here. 

Reluctantly, he pokes his head through the door and clears his throat. “Uh, Gally? Do you know where the painkillers are kept? They’re for Thomas.”

It takes just a few seconds for Gally to pause his game and brush past Newt without a word, heading towards the kitchen. He opens up a cupboard while Newt stands awkwardly in the doorway, before finally pulling out a small box and handing it over.

“You got him to talk to you?” asks Gally, raising his slightly intimidating eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, I did. Why?”

“Oh, just that Teresa could hardly get anything out of him, but I guess it makes sense that he’d tell you,” says Gally.

“What? Why would that ‘make sense’?”

Gally shrugs, turning away to pour a glass of water. “Judging by the amount he goes on about you, I’d say it's because he likes you a lot. But that’s none of my business is it?” he asks, handing the glass over to Newt with an entirely unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re right. That’s none of your business,” Newt says with a frown. “Thanks for these, anyway.”

He doesn’t await a response and instead heads back upstairs with the words _‘he likes you a lot’_ ringing in his ears. That’s the second time someone’s told him that; first Teresa and now Gally. For now, he tries to push away those thoughts with the pure determination of trying to make Thomas feel a little better. 

It’s the least he can do.

Thomas is still sitting up on his bed when Newt enters the room, and he’s pulled the blankets up around himself so it’s like an adorable little cocoon which Newt is having a hard time not grinning about. His presence is met with a warm smile and grateful eyes which zero in on the pills and water in his hand, before he swallows down quickly with a small sigh.

“Come sit with me?” Thomas asks quietly, as if he’s afraid that Newt might say no. Little does he know, Newt would have a hard time denying this boy of anything.

“Of course,” he says, and is quick to slide up under the mass of blankets that Thomas lifts up for him before reaching across and tucking him in. 

That small action of tenderness alone is enough to send his pulse skyrocketing. It’s the small acts of intimacy that always make him feel fuzzy inside, though he’d never tell Thomas as much. Like he’s said before: he can’t lose Thomas, and comments like that would come so close to crossing the very fine (almost transparent) line.

“So let’s talk,” says Newt, bumping his shoulder against Thomas'. “Have you spoken to Chuck yet? Do you know how he’s feeling about not going home yet?”

“Just briefly on the phone when I found out. He was upset, but they’re all still hopeful that he can go back eventually. Just not this time, I suppose, which sucks because he was really looking forward to it. To being back with his parents, you know?”

Newt doesn’t know, and he can’t imagine how it must feel for both Chuck and for Thomas to go through what they have. But he can feel how passionate Thomas is as he speaks about his foster brother and how much he just wants him to be happy, and his heart swells. 

It’s only when Thomas yawns deeply that he stops talking and looks at Newt rather sheepishly. “Sorry, I think I got like two hours of sleep last night. I’m exhausted,” he says.

“ _Two hours?_ Tommy! Thomas! Why?”

Thomas shrugs, “I was just thinking, my mind wouldn’t shut off.”

“You should have a nap now, before lunch.”

It takes a moment of consideration on Thomas' end before he finally nods, his eyes already drooping half-closed. “Hmm, okay. But will you stay? Unless you have to stuff you need to do somewhere else, then don’t _—_ ”

“It’s fine. “I’ll stay. I have my laptop in my bag.”

“Thanks, Newt.”

After a moment of shuffling around, Thomas finally finds a comfortable position to lie in, with the blankets wrapped around him and tucked up under his chin. It’s one of the sweetest things Newt has ever seen in his life.

But just as Newt finishes half closing the blinds at the window, he has a sudden, fleeting surge of bravery and he acts on it before he misses his chance. Before he heads over to Thomas' desk to finish a class assignment, he stops at the edge of the bed where Thomas lies, eyes closed but breaths still uneven.

Newt leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead, tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind his ear. Thomas hums contentedly, and Newt leaves him to sleep with a smile and with the realisation that he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halfway point :)


	11. can i be close to you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh no,” says Newt. “Thomas, that was not a challenge.”
> 
> “Well I’m going to take it as one, babe.”
> 
> “Thomas, no,” Newt warns as Thomas reaches down to scoop up a handful of what little snow there already is. “Thomas, I have class. Don’t you dare, Tommy, no, stop!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: bloom (bonus track) - the paper kites

Newt has only just finished his assignment for his creative writing class (which is due in a few hours, he’s never on top of these things), when he finally glances over to where Thomas has been sleeping for over an hour. He must have been exhausted, considering his two hours of sleep last night, because he barely stirred at all, even when Newt left to use the bathroom and get himself a glass of water. But he glances up at Thomas, and is surprised when he’s met with a pair of curious eyes watching him, which light up the moment their gazes meet.

“Your concentration face is cute,” Thomas says with a smile.

“Your sleep face is cute,” he fires back.

“You were watching me sleeping?”

“Well you were watching me studying, so I guess we’re even.”

“Fair enough,” Thomas says on an exhale, before pushing back some of his blankets and opening his arms out wide. “Come here,” he whines. “I want a cuddle.”

And, okay. Who is Newt to deny him of that? Especially with the cute pout and bambi eyes.

Nope. Newt never stood a chance.

“What are you, five?” he teases as he makes his way towards the bed.

“No, eighteen actually.”

Newt pauses at the edge of the bed, grinning down at Thomas. “Awh, you’re still eighteen?”

“Yes, now come give me a cuddle.”

Maybe it should have been strange that they can fall so easily into this flirty, slightly unplatonic routine, but Newt has to admit that he’s never felt as comfortable as he is with Thomas. He wouldn’t even think about cuddling with either Minho or Aris the way that he and Thomas do, and wonders just briefly why it’s so different with him; why he feels so at home and so at peace with the boy from the coffee shop. 

But that thought is just fleeting, and Newt allows himself to enjoy the feeling when Thomas curls into his side, resting his head against his shoulder like that’s where it belongs. Newt wouldn’t mind if it is.

Their legs tangle together like they had the night Newt slept over, but it feels different this time. Less accidental. Last time, it had been an unconscious accident, but this time it’s deliberate, and it feels divine. 

“I missed you,” murmurs Thomas.

“I missed you too.”

There’s a pause, before Thomas whispers, “I thought you were avoiding me.”

“Why did you think that?” asks Newt, starting to run his hand through Thomas' hair a lot like Thomas had done for him the morning they woke up together. 

Thomas practically melts against him. “Because _—_ ” he starts, entirely blissed out from the motion of Newt’s hand in his hair. “Because I kissed you.”

So, Newt’s aware that this could mean any two situations: the laser tag kiss, or the cheek kiss from the last night they saw each other. Which one Thomas means, Newt isn’t sure. But the fact that he thought he was avoiding him makes his heart ache, and he finds himself longing to just tell Thomas how much he enjoyed both kisses, and how much he’d love to do it again. Maybe someday.

“Why would I avoid you because of that?” he asks eventually.

Thomas shrugs (well, tries to from his current position). “Dunno. Guess I’m just an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Newt says with as much conviction as he can muster. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

The only response Newt receives for a while is the tightening of Thomas' arms around him, and a small, noncommittal hum. Newt would stay like this forever if he could; with a sleep-warm Thomas wrapped around him, and simply just being, together. Although he wishes there was no comma necessary there.

Eventually Thomas reaches out and grabs hold of Newt’s free hand, absentmindedly playing with his fingers. “So you weren’t avoiding me?” he murmurs, still sounding half asleep.

“Of course not,” says Newt. “I just had a lot of work due recently and I’d fallen behind so wasn’t exactly coping too well, to be honest.”

Thomas abruptly lifts his head from Newt’s chest, eyes wide and searching. “Wait what? Why didn’t you tell me? Are you okay now?”

“Yeah I’m okay, I just didn’t want to burden you,” Newt sighs, pulling Thomas back down onto him. “Plus, you didn’t tell me what was going on with you, either.”

“I guess we’re both hot messes then.”

In all honesty, Newt’s finding it harder and harder to convince himself that the situation he’s in is appropriate for ‘just friends’. If anyone were to see them now, cuddling at almost noon, they must surely have a fair few doubts that friends is the correct term to use, though Newt isn’t sure what else to describe them as. Once again, he finds the word ‘intimate’ popping into his head, and decides that, yes, surely friends are allowed to be intimate with each other if they so wish to be. 

Sonya’s roommate Harriet is always coming up to her during their weekly Facetime calls, and isn’t afraid to give her hugs and the occasional kiss on her cheek. But it’s different with guys, and Newt knows that he shouldn’t let bloody gender stereotypes influence his life because he’s been breaking those since he was young.

Still, it’s different, and he’s okay with that.

“Well I’m not the hot one,” he mumbles eventually, mostly to himself, forgetting that any breath that leaves his lips is going to be heard by Thomas in their close proximity.

“You so are, shut up!” says Thomas, his smile evident in his tone.

Newt hits him playfully on the wrist. “Am not.”  
“Are.”

“Not.”

“You _are._ ”

“You’re delusional,” says Newt, trying and failing not to smile pathetically.

“Psssh. _You_ must be if you think that this,” Thomas gestures wildly to himself as best he can from a horizontal position, “is hot.”

“Shut up Tommy, self depreciation isn’t good for you,” says Newt, before tilting his head down slightly to kiss the top of Thomas' head entirely absentmindedly. Thomas makes a sound of approval low in his throat, and Newt fights a blush when he realises what he just did. 

They stay like that for a while, in a comfortable silence that’s broken only by the occasional rustling of blankets or soft sigh from Thomas when Newt scratches his hair _just_ right. Newt thinks back to Thomas' brief explanation for all the tears, and how quick he’d been to shrug it off and move onto a more comfortable topic. As someone who’s been through therapy for a copious amount of time and had all his thought processes analysed to oblivion, Newt can attempt to understand what Thomas was trying to do. Not that he’s trying to psychoanalyse him, because that would be creepy. No, he just wants to be able to get an idea of what’s going on inside Thomas' head for him to break down so severely.

At least his therapy sessions taught him that it’s not actually an mentally okay occurrence to sob into your pillow and get up and pretend it never happened. So he has every right to be worried about how quickly Thomas turned from the sobbing mess he was to the pliant, sleep-warm boy in his arms.

“Hey, Tommy?” asks Newt, moving his hand from Thomas' hair to his shoulder where he begins to rub small circles into the fabric of his shirt with his thumb. 

Thomas hums noncommittally. “Yeah?” he asks, then adds, “why’d you stop scratching my hair?”

“What are you, a cat?” teases Newt.

“I would have been purring if I was one,” says Thomas, sighing when he realises the hand isn’t about to return to his hair and shifting up onto his elbow to meet Newt’s gaze. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask if your head’s feeling any better.”

Thomas reaches up to touch his head with a frown, pressing his palm against his temple as if physically trying to touch where the pain had been. “I think so. It’s not pounding anymore, at least.”

“Good,” Newt says with a smile, because it had hurt so much seeing Thomas in pain both physically and emotionally. “Do you want to talk about what you told me earlier? About Brenda and your biology thing?”

“Not really,” groans Thomas, covering his eyes with one hand. “But yes, please. The way you talk, it makes me feel better.”

Newt’s not sure whether anything that just came out of Thomas' mouth was entirely coherent, but he gets the idea and the declaration makes him feel delightfully warm and fuzzy inside. “I’m glad it does, Tommy,” he whispers. “So what’s going on with you and Brenda? How come she’s still coming round here?”

“Well she and Gally did that project together last week but she keeps coming over to hang out with him. Every time I step downstairs while she’s here, she’ll come and bother me and try to talk to me,” says Thomas, shaking his head with a sigh. “It’s like she wants to provoke a reaction or something and I’m so close to snapping at her, honestly.”

Hearing that Brenda’s been coming here and making Thomas feel like he is makes Newt wish once again that they’d been a little more open with each other this past week. One text from Thomas saying that she’s here would have been enough to see him sprinting from his dorm and giving her the good punch that she needs. 

Newt’s not usually a violent person, he swears. Though this Brenda girl is enough to make him one. Especially when she’s getting to Thomas like this.

“You can’t let her bother you,” he says eventually, absently reaching to place a hand on Thomas' arm in reassurance. “She’s just irritated that you’ve moved on and that she can’t control you anymore. People like that are just looking for a fight.”

Thomas sighs, “She made me feel so… _unimportant_ and not good enough, and her being here really brings back those feelings. I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“I know you do, but everything she made you believe back then… it isn’t true, I promise. You are so wanted and so worthy and important to so many people, especially to me.” Newt adds that last bit on as an afterthought, without really thinking it through or double checking it for any hints of his suppressed feelings. Once it’s tangible, however, he’s glad he said it.

“You mean that?” whispers Thomas, looking up at him almost shyly. 

“Of course I do. You’re one of my best friends.”

A strange expression passes across Thomas' face for a fraction of a second before it’s replaced with a smile, but it’s enough to send Newt’s thought spiralling like he’s falling down a rabbit hole with no end. Does Thomas not consider him worthy of a best friend status? 

But that expression makes him wonder whether they aren’t as close as he’d thought, at least in Thomas' eyes. Self doubt rushes through him, and he’s about to take back his statement when Thomas lays his head back down on Newt’s chest with a small hum of satisfaction.

“Thanks, Newt,” he says. “That means a lot to me. _You_ mean a lot to me, you know that?”

Newt would let out a sigh of relief if he wasn’t worried that Thomas might feel it, but allows the internal cursing of that stream of self doubt because _take that, anxiety, you’ve just been proven wrong._

“You’re sweet, Tommy,” he says with a smile.

“Not as sweet as you,” murmurs Thomas, before a thought seems to implant itself in his head, and he sits up to look Newt in the eye. “Wait is this my hoodie?” he asks.

Newt laughs, because it _is_ Thomas' hoodie and he can’t believe it really took him this long to realise after cuddling up against it for so long. “Yes it is,” he says. “I’d washed it to give it back to you, but it was on my chair and I put it on just for something to wear when I went to study with Alby.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind,” says Thomas, before pausing for a moment and frowning. “Is Alby a friend from your class?”

“He’s Aris' friend but he also takes psychology so I thought I’d ask for his help because we have a test coming up,” Newt says with a shrug. “Why’d you ask?”

“Oh, just. Curious.”

“Okay.”

Newt doesn’t know how to read Thomas' expression, and that scares him. He would say it looks a little like jealousy, but he doesn’t want to seem bigheaded, nor does he want to get his hopes up, so he’s not going to comment on it at all. Before either of them can say another word, Newt’s phone chimes from where he’d placed it beside him on the bed, and he glances over at the screen.

**Teresa:** [1:24]

I’m glad he’s okay, thanks for being there. Tell him I say hi and that he needs to put the leftovers in the fridge if he’s not going to eat them x

**Teresa:** [1:25]

Also, maybe don’t tell him why I got your number if he asks. He doesn’t like being checked up on xx

When Thomas had been asleep, Newt had typed out a text to Teresa letting her know that he was okay, per her request. He smiles at her message and relays the information to Thomas who’s taken to lying on his back beside Newt, with his glasses slid back on his nose. He strategically misses out the part about Teresa checking up on him.

“Oh okay,” says Thomas. “Yeah I’ll do that in a bit. How did you get Teresa’s number, though? I don’t remember her giving it to you.”

Newt smiles, because Teresa either has psychic ability, or just knows Thomas' mind well enough to be able to predict the exact direction of his thought processes. “I know all the best barista’s, Tommy,” he says with a wink, earning himself a fond eye roll, but thankfully no further questioning.

\--

Newt has a creative writing class at two, and Thomas says that he’ll walk out with him so he can go and talk to his biology professor about extra work to make up the failed lab he did the other day. After heating up the tub of leftover pasta in the microwave and sharing it between them, the two boys head out into the chilly winter afternoon, having narrowly avoided facing Gally who’d left the house right before they got downstairs. Thankfully.

It’s still snowing lightly as they make their way to campus, with a thin layer beginning to settle, which crunches underfoot with every step. Newt’s never been a fan of the snow or the cold, but the delighted look on Thomas' face is enough to convert him.

“I love the snow so much,” says Thomas, practically skipping with joy down the path. 

“I can tell. I’m glad you love it because I really don’t.”

“What do you mean you don’t like snow?” asks Thomas, his arms falling dejectedly down to his sides. Those downcast eyes make Newt wish he’d kept his opinions to himself.

“It’s cold and wet and turns to slush when the temperature rises, but I can see why you like it. It’s quite pretty, I suppose,” he says, gesturing vaguely down to the snow beneath their feet and hoping that Thomas gets the idea.

“Hmm. Okay.”

For a moment Newt thinks he’s let the topic go, but one glance in Thomas' direction proves otherwise. He’s met with mischievous glinting eyes and a smirk that’s enough to make his heart leap. And not for reasons you might think. “Oh no,” says Newt. “Thomas, that was not a challenge.”

“Well I’m going to take it as one, babe.”

“Thomas, no,” Newt warns as Thomas reaches down to scoop up a handful of what little snow there already is. “Thomas, I have _class._ Don’t you dare, Tommy, no, _stop!”_

He lets out a squeal that he’ll probably be embarrassed about later as the snowball is launched in the direction of his head, though he doesn’t quite move quick enough so it hits him square in the shoulder. A moment passes, then two.

Newt’s eyes darken, and a smile reaches his lips. 

This is _war._

As he reaches for his own snowball to fire at Thomas, he forgets all about his class and allows himself to simply let go. With the stresses of everything, it’s so easy to forget what fun looks like. He’s not usually fond of fun in the shape of a snowball, but here he is. Here he is, _living,_ and loving every second of it.

Well, every second apart from when a ball of snow hits his back and soaks through his coat, and he knows it’s going to be soggy for hours. He can’t bring himself to complain. Not when Thomas is smiling at him with so much joy in those eyes he’s grown to love.

“I cannot believe you!” he shouts with a ridiculous grin on his face, attempting to wipe off some of the snow from his shoulder that hasn’t already melted into his coat.

If Thomas was trying to make him love the snow, he’s failed.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” says Thomas, walking back over without any snowballs in his hands, much to Newt’s relief. “You’ll dry off.”

Newt attempts an eye roll as he shoves Thomas' shoulder with his own, and they continue their journey to campus, albeit a lot soggier than they’d started out as. “I’m going to be soggy for a whole two hours now, why would you do that to me?”

“Just go and stand under a hand dryer, you’ll be fine.”

\--

Newt does _not_ go and stand under a hand dryer.

Mainly because he’s almost late to his class as it is, but also because he isn’t sure that he wouldn’t have received a copious amount of questioning looks for that bizarre behaviour. 

He’d left Thomas by the biology building so he could go and speak to his professor, and had made his way to his classroom feeling thoroughly dampened, but happy. It was around halfway through his class when he received a text from Thomas telling him that he was in the library completing some of the work he’d been given for extra credits, and he was quick to make his way over there as soon as class finished. The walk through the ever thickening snow was lonely without Thomas by his side.

Newt stamps the snow off his boots as he steps inside the library, and is met with a blanket of warmth that makes his fingers tingle and the feeling slowly return to his toes. His coat dried off nicely on the back of his chair during class, and he’s grateful that the hoodie he’s wearing— _Thomas' hoodie_ —is as cosy as it is. He’ll give it back to Thomas one day.

Eventually.

As he makes his way towards the back of the library, he finally catches a glimpse of messy brown hair which looks as if a hand has been run through it frustratedly, and considers whether it would be weird to hide behind this bookshelf and just _look._ Thomas is still wearing his glasses, and he looks so _good_ in them that Newt has to physically remind himself to take a breath.

After deciding that it probably would be weird to stand here gaping at Thomas any longer than he already has, Newt walks over to the desk that Thomas is working at and slides into the seat opposite. Thomas jumps slightly at his presence, and it takes Newt right back to the first day in the Homestead where he’d been so terrified about seeing Thomas sitting beside him at his table that he’d almost thrown his laptop to the floor. 

At least Thomas isn’t as easily startled as he is.

“Thank God you’re here,” Thomas says in greeting, sounding more than a little exasperated with life. “I swear I’m going to go insane over this.”

Newt frowns, leaning forward across the desk to look at what Thomas had been working on for two hours. “Sounds intense,” he says.

“Yeah, well. It’s my own fault for failing the lab I did. I asked to retake it but my professor said no, hence the torturously long essay,” says Thomas, sliding two pieces of paper towards Newt. “It’s not many credits, but it’s hopefully worth it to catch up.”

“Tommy, this is a lot,” murmurs Newt. “How did you manage this in two hours?”

Thomas shrugs, “I write fast. But I think I’m done, can we go home now?”

_Can we go home now?_

The words almost steal all the air from his lungs in just one single simple, innocent little question. His tone is so hopeful and it sounds so awfully domestic, as if to suggest that they might go home where they live _together,_ and Newt has to physically swallow back the urge to lunge across the table into Thomas' arms. 

If he’s honest, in his arms is exactly where he wishes he could be right now.

“You know we don’t live together, right?” he asks with a small laugh.

“That can change,” says Thomas, making a random gesture with one hand as he packs up his papers into his bag. “Move in with me?”

“I’d actually be strangely onboard with that.”

Thomas smiles up at him, and Newt has to suppress a sigh because it should be illegal for anyone to look that good with glasses and messy hair. He wants to kiss that grin right off his face. 

While Thomas zips up his bag and shrugs on his coat, Newt takes the chance to pull his phone out of his bag and glance down at the messages he’d heard come in while he was walking over here.

**Min:** [4:10]

dude i feel like i’ve barely seen you recently. want to come over to mine to play some video games?

**Min:** [4:11]

also you can bring your man if you want xo

**Newt:** [4:29]

How did you know I’m with Thomas?

**Min:** [4:29]

i have my sources. so are you coming or what?

**Newt:** [4:30]

Yes. I’m coming.

**Newt:** [4:30]

Stalker.

“Minho’s asked if we want to go over to his,” says Newt, tucking his phone into his back pocket as they walk back through the library. “You don’t have anything else you need to do this afternoon, do you?”

“Not that I know of. Am I going to get to experience you beating him at Mario Kart?”

Newt frowns, “How do you know about that?”

“He posts it on his snapchat stories,” Thomas says, and Newt swears he sees him blush ever so slightly, as if being caught for doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “He posts about you a lot, actually.”

Honestly, Newt shouldn’t be surprised—this is Minho we’re talking about, after all—and it would actually explain why so many people he doesn’t know seem to recognise him. Thinking back, it was probably obvious from the start. He always seemed to be recording something or shoving his phone in Newt’s face, though it had never occurred to him that his best friend might be _posting_ the videos he takes. Eight years of friendship and Newt’s only just finding this out.

Maybe Newt will yell at him about consent later on.

“How long’s he been doing that for?” asks Newt.

Thomas scrunches up his nose in consideration. “Oh, definitely for as long as I’ve had him on snapchat. So at least four months, probably longer.”

“Huh. Of course he does.”

“You really didn’t know?” asks Thomas. “He posts about you all the time. That’s how I knew when you were—”

_“Newt!”_

Just as they’re about to push through the library doors and head out into the ever thickening snow, his name is called and he suppresses a sigh about their conversation being interrupted. He turns and comes face to face with Alby who greets him with a smile that he feels bad about having to force in return. It’s nothing against Alby—he was just really interested in what Thomas was about to say.

“Hi Alby,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine thanks. Listen, I was wondering if you’d want to hang out again. We didn’t really get much chance to chat this morning,” says Alby, and Newt feels guilty about the eagerness in his eyes and the extreme lack of enthusiasm in his own.

“Maybe we can do something with Aris,” suggests Newt. “I know you guys are close.”

“Yeah, well I was hoping it could be more like… a date?” Alby says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, seemingly entirely oblivious to Thomas beside him.

Newt’s eyes widen when he realises that he’s going to have to let him down as gently as possible, because the last thing he wants to do is hurt him. Still, he’s flattered that anyone would feel that way about him. 

His heart has just already become attached to someone else. 

Someone who, as if he were aware of the very thoughts running through Newt’s mind, places a hand against the small of his back in reassurance and inches closer, his presence comforting. 

Before he’s even opened his mouth to respond, however, he watches how Alby’s eyes dart down to Thomas' hand on his back and then flit between the two of them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, eyes wide. “I didn’t realise you two were— I didn’t even think. Wow this is embarrassing, isn’t it? I’m really sorry, just forget I said anything. I think I’ll just… go. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll see you around.”

Before Newt can get a word in amongst the rambling, Alby has turned on his heel and ran, leaving him staring after him as he tries to process exactly what just happened. 

Had Alby thought that he and Thomas are _together?_ From the way Thomas had placed a hand on his back? It’s true that people keep making the assumption, but that one simple action alone surely couldn’t imply a relationship, right?

Newt glances to his left at Thomas who has long since retracted his hand and looks just as bewildered as he feels. “Should we go?” he asks eventually, suddenly incredibly aware of how the pair of them are standing gaping at the now empty space.

“Yeah,” says Thomas. “Let’s go.”

They walk in a strange silence through the snow for a good minute or so, Newt leading them back through campus to head towards Minho’s place, and he can’t help but feel slightly awkward about the assumption Alby had made about himself and Thomas. Neither of them had denied it; they hadn’t had the chance to. Yet somehow, that seems to have made it weirder.

“What were you going to tell him?” Thomas asks eventually with a curious little smile. “Alby, I mean. If you’d got the chance.”

Newt’s eyes widen just a fraction, “I would have said no, but with sympathy because he seems like a decent guy.”

“Because he’s a guy or just not your type?” asks Thomas, his slight hesitation evident in his voice, as if he’s afraid to ask about Newt’s sexuality. Not that he’s ever really hidden it.

“Are you asking me if I’m gay?” 

“Uh. Yes?”

Newt laughs at the sudden awkwardness oozing from Thomas, and nudges their shoulders together in a gesture he hopes is lighthearted and reassuring. “It’s fine, Tommy. I am, and I don’t mind people knowing. Everyone usually just assumes, anyway.”

“Oh, good,” Thomas says with a sigh, but quickly backtracks when Newt raises an eyebrow at him. “I mean, not _good_ but like… well it is good. For you. Good for you.”

All Newt can do is watch him out of his periphery as they walk, noticing how Thomas scrunches up his nose and kicks at the snow beneath his feet with the smallest of mutters falling from his lips. He can’t help but wonder whether he’s freaking out over Newt’s coming out to him, or if he’s uncomfortable with the fact that he’s only now telling him that he’s gay, after all their cuddles and kisses.

Newt really hopes it isn’t the latter.

“Don’t tell me your one of those people who gets weird around gay guys,” he says with a hint of humour to his tone as to try and lighten the mood.

It’s incredible, really, how quick Thomas is to whip his head around to look at him incredulously, and Newt is taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. “What? No!” squeaks Thomas. “I mean, of course not. I’m literally— I’m bisexual.”

He lowers his voice to say the final two words, but it’s one of the clearest and most certain things Newt’s ears have ever been blessed with. It’s a confirmation of the possibility that there just might be a ‘them’ in all this; that his feelings could be requited if the universe is on his side. 

“You are?” he manages to ask, only now noticing that they’ve come to a complete stop in the middle of the path leading up to Minho’s shared house. 

Thomas is looking at him with a mixture of relief and something so tender that Newt can’t quite put his finger on, and he can’t bring himself to worry whether he was the one to stop in his tracks to stare at Thomas, or the other way around.

“Yes,” Thomas says with a smile. “I am. I’m not out to many people, though. Just Teresa and the guys at home, and Chuck. It was a… recent development.”

“That’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. But, Tommy, I’m proud of you. You know that, right?”

“Thanks, Newt. I’m proud of you, too.”

One of them must have reached out for the other, or maybe they naturally gravitated together, because suddenly they’re hugging and it feels like a thousand words are shared in that one single embrace. Thomas is so _warm_ , and the snow falling so delicately into their hair and onto their jackets is so _cold,_ so it’s only natural that he would bury his face in Thomas' shoulder and pull their bodies closer together.

He feels like home.

“Are you shanks gonna stand out there all day or are you coming inside at some point?”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know your thoughts in the comments, your support means the entire world to me!!
> 
> special thanks to mer for reading this through for me, i love and appreciate you so much x
> 
> lastly, here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/newtswonderland) if you want to come say hi and yell about newtmas with me :)


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